I hate Andie.

Is That Your Gun Or Are You Just Happy To See Me

2009-11-02T12:42:00.013+08:00

Reading: The Spider's Web by Peter Tremayne (Celtic mystery, lol)
Watching: Observe and Report (Seth Rogen, Ray Liotta)
Listening to: Jolene - Zac Brown Band

I've been posting this on my Plurk, Twitter, Facebook and Taco accounts:

If it involves seeing the inside of a police station, it officially IS the worst day of your life.

That it also happened in the middle of another typhoon was just a yummy, clammy addendum. The winds knocked down the poor palm trees they'd installed in the middle of the mall that was under construction next door to our office building. At around seven in the morning, after an entire day of internet problems that nearly drove me to beating up some random new guy at the office, I was already getting ready to go home and finish packing. When I looked out the windows and only devastation and no taxis, I had a feeling this day still wasn't going to go my way.

I always have underestimated Fate's sense of humor.

Intermission in the proceedings brought on by the power going out and the elevators giving out. We were all stuck on the tenth floor of a half-finished office building with the winds making Frighteners faces against our windows.

When I finally get home and finish taking my bookshelf apart and stuffing stray socks in any boxes that weren't yet taped shut, I receive a text message from the movers saying that they would have to postpone the move until the next day. I said fine, since I left an urgent campaign to someone else at work anyway. I was going out to check my email when I opened the door to the lady who picks up our rent and a uniform cop.

Apparently the pizza place downstairs got robbed during the night and they were asking everyone questions. I tried being helpful - no, I didn't see anyone suspicious inside the constantly padlocked building (duh); no, I didn't see a man passing by, "casing the joint" if you will; yes, I was at work while this whole thing you say took place; and no, I don't know anyone who might want to take an oven toaster and two fire extinguishers (which, it turns out, were what were stolen). I resisted the urge to tell them that if I were going to steal anything from this condemned dump anyway, I'd go straight for the high-tech freezers in the back and not even look at the power transformer (the other positively stupid and random thing that was stolen).

Cop: You'd need a power transformer for your appliances, don't you? Surely, you have a computer up there in your room.
Me: Um... the only appliance I have is an electric kettle. And I own a laptop. I'm actually kind of curious why the robbers didn't go for that instead.
Cop: Do you know why they would go for the oven, transformer and fire extinguishers specifically then?
Me: (growing sleepier by the minute as this was already nearly noon) I don't know... I personally would go for the freezers if I were... Maybe they wanted to cook something but were afraid of burning it?

Apparently it's bad to talk back to cops, because not five minutes after he let me go back to my room, they took us all down to the local police precinct.

Cop: So, we've determined that this couldn't have been done by someone who didn't have access to the building. This is definitely an inside job, which means we're looking at you three.

Really? Because we said we didn't see anyone particularly suspicious? We live in the semi-slums. Two weeks ago I saw a guy get stabbed with a kitchen knife while I was crossing the street; everyone looks suspicious!

Cop: (to the couple that lived opposite me) I've been told you missed paying the rent this month?
Neighbor Lady: Uh... we've only been here three months.

I kept myself from laughing.

Neighbor's Husband: Sir, we're not crooks. We both have jobs. We're not rich or anything, but we all here are straight.

Besides, if they really didn't have money to pay the rent, they could just move out in the middle of the night and we would all be none the wiser. But I didn't say that.

Cop: (turning to me) And you? What do you have to say for yourself?
Me: (confused) You want me to prove my innocence?
Cop: You three are our prime suspects right now, Miss.
Me: Well, I was at work. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with a fire extinguisher even if I'd stolen it. And I... don't cook.
Neighbor Lady: Please, Sir, we're not well off, but I can buy anything I want or need. We surely don't need to steal just to earn money.
Me: (chiming in) Yeah, what she said.

They kept us waiting anxiously for a couple more hours after that. My neighbor's husband was called back in at one time. I tried to stay awake and not look guilty by keeping my peepers on the TV showing a match between Floyd Mayweather and a poor Argentinian who had no chance from the start. In between rounds I kept dozing off thinking if he really wanted to be taken seriously again, he's stop dancing around Pacquiao and put his coward ass in the ring with him as soon as possible.

One of the women that worked at the stall next to the pizza place woke me after some time. I found that they'd brought the Scene of the Crime guys in. They were taking fingerprints. I wanted to laugh. I asked the lady if we could go yet. She said they were still going to take us to Campo Crame to take a lie detector test. This time I really laughed. I stopped myself when half a dozen cop heads turned to look at me.

I walked over to the front desk where they were taking my neighbor's husband's fingerprints.

"Excuse me, Sir. Can I just go ahead?" I asked, trying to keep my eyes wide open and tear-free.

The cop was interrupted by the owner of the pizza place. "You can let her go, Sir. I don't for a second think it's her anyway, plus she still has to go to work later tonight and she hasn't had any sleep yet," she said.

I didn't bother to correct her. No way was I going all the way to Campo Crame in the middle of a typhoon even though I'd just decided that a lie detector test was one thing I did want to go through even just once in my life. The policeman caved and let us all go provided we left our forwarding addresses and numbers with them.

My neighbors and I walked back to our place, guffawing in the rain. My neighbor's husband said no way was he going in jail for something so embarrassing as stealing an oven toaster. I told him if he was sure that they were going to take him in, he better kill someone before going to jail or he'd never live it down. His wife said, oh yes, she stole the stuff - it's always been her lifelong dream to sell toasted pizzas in the street. We had a beer when we got home, now that we had a ridiculous shared experience. I left the couple downstairs and went back to my room after a while, when I found a text message waiting for me.

Seriously?: Hi, ma'am. This is Sgt. Avila, the investigator for the case. Sorry to have bothered you today.

I was thinking maybe they were texting all of us to confirm the contact information we left them.

Me: (as I know how to be civil as well) It's no problem at all. We're also afraid that someone might come back to rob us so thank you for making this a priority.
Seriously?: When are you moving out?

As it still was a valid question, I tried to swallow the bile rising in my throat, but kept it terse.

Me: Tomorrow.
Seriously?: Is anyone helping you?
Me: Yes, I've hired some movers. Also a friend is coming to help.
Seriously?: Do you already have a vehicle to move your things in?
Me: (increasingly getting anxious) Yes, I have rented a truck.
Seriously?: I have one you can use.
Me: : (inwardly going EWWWWWWW!!!) That's fine, but I've got everything covered. Thanks, anyway.
Seriously?: When are you moving? And how much is your rent?

I stopped replying out of courtesy right there. I had weird images of the creepy cop making his rounds in the neighborhood and looking up at my room now. I gagged. I've been living in that god-forsaken street for two months now and have leveled-up more in those two months than in all of my other twenty-three years, but now it was time to get a gun. Sad thing was there was a cute cop in that station watching the boxing match with us, but I get the sleazy, middle-aged investigator instead. What did I expect from typhoon season anyway? Better to just get that gun.

I want to go DVD hunting now.

2009-01-22T02:45:00.006+08:00

Reading: Watership Down by Richard Adams
Watching: The Middleman (Ah, Pillow Lips.)
Listening to: Attila Marcel - Ben Charest

This is why we should never stop believing in the hotness that is Jean Claude Van Damme. <3

I know some of my friends (shock) have told me to stop just posting trailers and actually talk about something, and I... will get to it soon. Eheh.

Clint Eastwood Will Never Die

2008-12-20T05:00:00.001+08:00

Sigh.

On Life and Office Pet Deaths

2008-12-20T00:25:00.005+08:00

Reading: Selected Stories by Anton Chekhov
Listening to: Don't - Billy Currington

Well, Lobs the Crayfish didn't make the molting deadline, it seems. He's now quite dead, as opposed to just suspiciously lying on his back and being very, very still.

I knew he (or she) was dead and all, yes, but when my teammates started on the funereal jokes and joking about feeding him to the disgusting office tarantula, I thought I was going to cry. I don't know what came over them though, because when I got here tonight to start my shift, I found him lying in a corner of a small plastic box sitting squarely in front of my computer. The box clearly said "MICROWAVE OVEN SAFE" and had a little icon of a fork and a wine glass under the words. Hah.

I don't know what to do with him now.

Yes, Victoria, There Is An Elvis Presley

2008-12-17T01:04:00.007+08:00

Reading: Tutankhamun by Otto Neubert
Listening to: Don't - Billy Currington

My first gift for Christmas! (and maybe the only one that counts)

Now imagine it as big and tall as your door. I thought I was going to swoon.

* * * *

A little office drama has ensued last night when we all thought Lobs, our office fortune lobster/crayfish, was dead. (Yes, very creative name, but I wanted to call him Colin. Or Jeeves.) My teammate Mike and I immediately set about researching about crayfish and imagine my dismay when I found that they usually only live for about two to three years... and I had given him as an exchange gift to another officemate two Christmas parties ago! Then Mike found some material about how crayfish molted and what the poor wretched thing was doing (or not doing, for that matter, except for nearly scaring us to death and having us almost prematurely flush him down the toilet in the back) seemed to fit the description.

So now, we're just waiting rather impatiently, trying to resist the urge to poke him or even just pick him up and peel the damn old shell ourselves while Lobs the Crayfish lies in his bowl on his back, his two hundred spindly feet in the air, playing dead.

...this is how they molt, right? We're not just unwittingly keeping a dead office pet?

* * * *

While we're still blogging, have you been to Kirk Douglas's MySpace page?

Beware... The Cloy! Part II

2008-11-10T22:34:00.005+08:00

Reading: Xenocide by Orson Scott Card, A Pelican at Blandings by PG Wodehouse
Watching: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Listening to: Guilty In Here - Miranda Lambert

As I am writing this on the back of a page of a law bok dealing with the fineprint on motion pictures and television broadcasts in the Philippines, I will make sure there is minimal cloying this time, as there was minimal (or should I say, none at all) cuddling involved in this latest debacle also known as My Tireless Efforts to Embarrass Myself in Front of the Boy I Like While Acting Under the Influence of Beer.

Ah, beer. Sweet, sweet beer. If mother's milk were to have been fermented and malted or whatever it is one does, I bet it would taste exactly like ice-cold beer on a sweltering day. Or it would be just Weird Human Cheese.

I only tasted my first beer less than six months ago, and it didn't taste that good at all, as most claimed. I just kept drinking it until I started to like it because I found it got people together easier than a malfunctioning elevator or a shipwreck, and that's exactly what I'd been lacking for most of my life - not a natural disaster and weeping from underneath the rubble - plain old hanging out and enjoying other people's company. People you've never given much thought about except that you're almost certain that this one's gay and this one's descended from bats become real people over an afternoon of beer. You find out this one's ridiculously funny, that one just got dumped by his girl for a tap dancer (true story), that one can't sing on key to save his life and that one that you thought you maybe liked a bit, you actually like hella lot more than you thought.

Now if only the alcohol level in one's body plateaus out eventually to a mild stupor or state of giddiness instead of exponentially climbing as you kept on drinking... Now, it's not like I thoroughly embarrassed myself this time. I didn't take off my clothes and danced in front of other people (actually, he did that). Maybe I'm even just overthinking all this and blowing it out of proportion, but I did do something I promised I never would again - I showed him intent; I showed him I liked him.

I was slightly drunk and definitely woozy when he helped me up the steps to my apartment. He knocked (rather loudly, for some reason) and my housemate answered the door. He handed me off to her, telling her I was drunk and to take care of me. I probably looked like shit to boot. When I wouldn't let go of his hand (or shirt, I don't remember which), I recall him telling me, "I've got to go. The others are waiting in the taxi below. I'll stay next time." Had the shame-inducing parts of my brain been firing off the synapses properly instead of partying, that would have been my cue to straighten up, give a curt smile and wave goodbye. Instead, I flicked him resentfully between the eyes. I distinctively remember doing that, though I had no idea why I had wanted to. Come to think of it, I had no idea why I held on to him so tight in the first place. I didn't want him to come in. I didn't want to down any more beers from the fridge. In fact, I was in quite a hurry to change, wash my face and revisit Thoreau now that I was good and drunk, as I can't seem to digest him at all when I'm sober. Part of me must have wanted to just hold on to him just so I could hold him. And the stupid beer made that quite clear to him for me.

Ah, beer. I only keep you in the fridge on the slimmest chance that If You Buy It He Will Come, but really, if we'd just kept on talking and talking until our nostrils collapsed without anything lovey-dovey ever happening, I still couldn't be happier. I'd be perfectly content to learn about his day, or about a pair of shoes he's had his eye on, or how he forgot to eat a sandwich he'd bought the other day and found it'd already gone bad this morning, or what he thought of the origins of the universe or that fat man across the street with the small dog. He'd never have to know and I'd never have to expect anything. That definitely wouldn't happen now, though, wouldn't it? He probably thinks I'm some half-crazed gorgon who'll pounce any moment I get him alone, snake-hair poised for action. And Thoreau is still as boring when you're drunk, damn it all.

Ah, beer. I should've just stuck to curling up with a good book and my good lamp on weekends. I will not - NOT - be drinking you again... for a couple of weeks.

Life is uneventful.

2008-11-01T01:54:00.002+08:00

Reading: Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card
Watching: Mrs. Miniver (That kid of hers looks like Jimmy Stewart...)
Listening to: Volver, Volver - Los Lobos

Oh, lordy.

Beware... The Cloy!!!

2008-09-15T19:50:00.003+08:00

Reading: A Woman of No Importance by Oscar Wilde
Watching: One Piece (heheh)
Listening to: If It Kills Me - Jason Mraz

This is bad. It's Monday night and I haven't slept yet. I've been tossing and turning (as much as you can toss and turn in a short and narrow couch), trying different ends, flipping throw pillows over to get to the cool side and finally, just closing my eyes and trying not to think of anything, but nothing would work. I couldn't stop thinking about what happened this weekend on that same couch (the nice, sweet bits, not the almost smutty bits, mind you). I can't sleep.

I didn't think I liked this guy that much. It was probably even more of how horribly my work week ended than because of the guy, but I couldn't just go home that day without taking home some pleasant memory that would have offset the client services nightmare I had to go through. What I didn't figure at that time was that I did take the soon-to-be-pleasant-memory home with me literally.

Of course there was alcohol involved. I'm not the type that gets drunk to forget her troubles, and I certainly am not the type that would conspire to get someone drunk to make them forget their inhibitions. It was just a tiny spot of hastily-chilled beer and hours and hours of stories from our childhood, but I don't think I'd ever had so much fun in such a long time. When we arrived, he said he could only stay for fifteen minutes, one can of beer. We ended up talking until well into the night and then doing our best to try to fit two people in the couch without straining our necks and ankles in our sleep.

But now I can't sleep. I'm not... snug. I keep expecting his head nestled on my stomach, my feet tucked under his leg so they wouldn't slip off, his arm across my back, my fingers in his hair... EWWWWW!

The next time you meet me in person, please hit me on the head. I've become a total sap. Eww. An insomniac sap. Ewwwwww....

Por dios por santo, Sakurai Sho (Part II)

2008-08-22T10:39:00.008+08:00

Reading: Mason & Dixon by Thomas Pynchon
Watching: Robin Hood (Season 2)
Listening to: Bedshaped - Keane

Looky what I found in the heaps and heaps of videos from the Olympics!

Do you think it's too late to start learning a new sport? My god, Sakurai Sho.

Something Anything

2008-08-14T23:47:00.004+08:00

Reading: Come to Grief by Dick Francis
Listening to: New Strings - Miranda Lambert

Woohoo!

Travis are pleased to confirm the tracklisting of their eagerly awaited new album Ode To J. Smith, which will be released on Monday the 29th September (UK) in CD, vinyl and digital formats.

I'm a doctor, not a Rider of Rohan!

2008-08-14T03:46:00.003+08:00

Reading: Night Watch by Stephen Kendrick (total tripe, but I couldn't resist Sherlock Holmes + Father Brown)
Watching: Veronica Mars (Season 1)
Listening to: Hello, San Francisco - Sugar Pie DeSanto

Nonsensical fangirl blithering will now commence.

John Cho as Sulu! Simon Pegg as Scotty! (I wanted to complain about the weird hair, but Scotty's hair has always been in several weird positions throughout the series...) Karl Urban definitely makes a sexy McCoy (mint julep, anyone?), and I can almost hear him for when the first trailer comes out: "I'm a doctor, not a Rider of Rohan!"

Chekov, though, I don't understand. I mean, of course, if you want the whole crew together, he has to be there, but if the crew was in their thirties in the show and Chekov was the only one who could wear a Monkees do, shouldn't he be still in high school, learning about the other things Mother Russia had dubiously invented?

Oh well. Happy, happy!

Monday, Monday

2008-07-28T04:23:00.004+08:00

Reading: Whip Hand by Dick Francis
Watching: The Happening (Mark Wahlberg, Zooey Deschanel)
Listening to: I'm Through With Love - The Nat King Cole Trio

You know that feeling when you're recalling something extremely embarrassing that you did in the past? Not just something that happened to you, something that you did out of your own volition, for whatever reason that seemed good enough then. I've had several of those, and whenever I remember then, I involuntarily let out a little sound from the back of my throat, kind of like a kick in your sleep that brings you out of your dream.

Now this may either be bad (embarrassing moment, bad dream) or good (you wake from it), but the point is you get out of it, and in an instant. I have been feeling the exact opposite this entire weekend because of something he said to me. It's not a nagging feeling you have to shake off, but rather something that creeps up on you and reminds you of it just when it seemed safely inexistent again. And that reminder, augh. I thought I should write about it because everytime I remember... everytime I remember I just sit there with the back of my hand against my face, frowning and smelling my nose against my fingers. I feel worried and anxious - nauseated... and I need to vomit.

This is the vomit:

He's just told me some story that he thought I'd be mad about. I wasn't - it was a bit perverse, but I wouldn't get mad over something I'd probably do myself.
Him: Ok, I have to tell you something else, but please don't get mad.
Me: (rolling my eyes) I'm getting pissed off just thinking that you have so much to tell me that'd piss me off. It's up to you. I'm just... sitting here.
Him: (sighs) This one, I'm sure, will make you mad. It's just a question, though. A what-if.
I don't say anything. I don't even look at him. I look angry, but I'm more scared than angry, like anything he might have to say could be an A-bomb.
Him: Ok. What if... What if my, you know, my girlfriend came over here and... Cause I've been telling her about you, you know... What if I introduced you to-
Me: I'm not gonna be here.
Him: Wait- what?
Me: I'm. Not. Going. To. Be. Here.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe, but the answer to this question was a no-brainer. The answer is you kill the question. Don't even let its sassy question-marked tail see the light of day. Don't even humor it by answering "no." "No" may be the opposite of "yes," but a "no" or any other kind of response to his question means you've already entertained the idea that the circumstance might exist. Next thing you know it is that time and it is that place and you're there and she's there and you're still pathetically saying "no." Fucking kill the question. The question won't be asked. The question can't be fucking asked. Why?
Me: I'm not gonna be here.
Him: What do you mean you're not gonna be- It's here. At the office.
Me: I'm not gonna be at the office. Basta. I'm not gonna be here.
Him: Wh- How- (sighs) Never mind. Ok.

I was sorry for being such a bitch to him about it, but he shouldn't have asked that. I put my hand over my face and breathed. I was seething. I wanted to cry. I wanted to smoke. I wish he'd never brought it up. I know I've been living in total denial, but that's what keeps me breathing and sometimes even trick me into having brief moments of happiness. It's a fake, made up world, two steps away from schizophrenia, but I've kept my life together because of it. Whenever he er... "addresses the fourth wall," shall we say, I feel like something's been wrenched from inside my chest with dirty, rusty pliers and I can't do anything but put my hand over my mouth and turn to stone.

If you think that's pretty messed up, just give me some candy, but don't say it to my face. See you Monday!

Hey, if I've held out more than a year now, I can last until next May!

2008-07-27T06:19:00.003+08:00

Reading: Nothing yet. Can't decide.
Watching: The Stand Miniseries (Gary Sinise, Rob Lowe)
Listening to: Get Next To Me - Arthur Adams and B.B. King

My god, the fangirl machine will not relent. I had a bit of trouble with work this week, but not because I'd stopped being good at it. It's just a little difficult to move around freely when you've hidden the icons on your desktop (yes, I also have the desktop toolbar on my taskbar, but it's not the same) to make room for this:

Nothing can beat the original, but oh lordy, Zachary Quinto. There were four of these made as posters (which, when you assemble, make out the Enterprise insignia) and given out to participants at the 2008 convention, but only one to each. I can imagine equally feeble attempts at mugging and fending off fellow geek muggers in the back alleys of Las Vegas or wherever, and Gil Grissom rolling his eyes at the crime scenes. It would be too geeky, even for him.

Click to go to the official site
to download the wallpapers and icons.

Who will watch the Watchmen?

2008-07-21T04:54:00.011+08:00

Reading: Odds Against by Dick Francis
Watching: Little Manhattan (Josh Hutcherson)
Listening to: Monday, Monday - The Mamas and the Papas

Well, hello...

I didn't really think they were serious when they said they'd make this movie, but now we've got a trailer and production stills! Stills, silly costumes and all! Gaaah!! Check out The Comedian and the new Nite Owl:

A lot more pictures over here. There's one of Ozymandias as well, but he doesn't really look as... gold as I'd expected. I'm glad Dr. Manhattan doesn't look like the Silver Surfer. Still, it's hard not to feel a bit uneasy - the trailer's a little corny and over the top. I hope ijjut Zack Snyder will realize in time that you can't go all superhero mode again like he did with 300 with a comic that deconstructs superheroes. Based on the trailer, though, he doesn't seem to be listening. But really, who am I to complain? I've got Rorschach yummy in my tummy!

So I guess I'm just as happy now that you can actually take the question literally: Who will watch the Watchmen?

TV Patrol

2008-06-21T01:09:00.006+08:00

Watching: Strangers on a Train (Farley Granger, Robert Walker)
Listening to: Me and the Devil Blues - Robert Johnson

Por dios, por santo, Sakurai Sho!

I want to touch you inside your shirt, too.

I know next to nothing about him, except that he's in a boyband (A1 who?) and does the nightly news. And he looks like that. Can you imagine someone like him doing the news in our country? I'd ride the bus till nightfall to see who got stabbed a couple of blocks away from my apartment. Heck, I'd buy a TV just to watch the news.

Sakurai Sho: President Arroyo announced today that she will double all taxes on night differentials for office employees.
Me: That's... that's all right. I won't go hungry. I'll just look at you... *_*
* * *
Sakurai Sho: John McCain is now officially President of the United States. With the GOP still firmly in place, the war may stretch on for decades...
Me: That's... okay. I'm sure you'll find a way. With that smile, those abs and a pocketful of happy songs, you'll surely bring peace on earth... *_*
* * *
Sakurai Sho: This just in! Manananggal have invaded Manila! Please stock up on salt and garlic, reinforce your roofs, stay away from windows and watch over your young children!
Me: That's... still okay. You'll come to protect me, right? I'm sure you have a shiny sword hidden somewhere... *_*

Lament of A Cursed Telemarketer

2008-06-18T19:38:00.006+08:00

Reading: Pulp Fiction: The Crimefighters edited by Otto Penzler
Watching: Yamada Taro Monogatari (Eheheh. I love Sakurai Sho.)
Listening to: Too Daze Gone - Billy Squier

I just got in last night when my phone rang. I so wanted it to be someone else, but we don't always get what we want... like this guy calling was soon to find out.

Ring! Ring!

I look at my phone. It's an unknown number.

Me: Hello?
Sharkbait: Hi, is this Andrea Peñaredondo?
Me: Uh... yes. Who is this?
Sharkbait: Oh, hi Andrea! My name is Sharkbait. I'm uh- actually, your high school friend Niño referred me to you. He uh- Actually, Andrea, this is a business call.

I suppress a snicker.

Me: Oh?
Sharkbait: Yes, actually, I'm uh- I'm a Junior Business Executive from a US-based company...

Downright shady, I tell you. I can be a human subject for lung cancer research for Big Tobacco and still get to call myself a Junior Business Executive working for a US-based company.

Sharkbait: (Continues) ...and this is a business call. (Sure, if you say it often enough...) I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time.
I didn't want to let my old friend down, so I said yes. I had a few questions myself, though.
Me: So-
Sharkbait: (Cannot control his spiel as it becomes word vomit.) So, as I said, I was reffered to you by your old friend Niño from Philippine Science High School. He says you might be interested in our new project - I'm sorry, I'm going to make this quick because my event's gonna start soon (??). He said you're just what we're looking for - hardworking and goal-oriented. Is this true?

Time out! Hardworking, sure, but who ever describes anybody as "goal-oriented?" I try to suppress another snicker.

Me: Uh... (awkward chuckle) I guess... although I don't know how he would know that. Wait, I want to ask-
Sharkbait: Ok, so Andrea, actually, we're planning a new project-
Me: Wait-
Sharkbait: -that we think you'd be perfect for-
Me: (A little too loudly, and in Tagalog) Wait, ha? Anong pangalan ng company niyo uli? (What's the name of your company again?)
Sharkbait: Excuse me?
Me: Your company. Sabi mo (You said) you're a "Junior Business Executive for a US-based company." (I promise, I tried not to mock the phrase as much as possible, it just came out that way.) So anong pangalan ng company? (So what's the name of the company?)
Sharkbait: Ok, Ms. Andrea (I hate it when they call me that), if you're not in the mood to discuss this right now, I can put this call down. (Like a sick dog?)
Me: (Suddenly feels bad) Uh...
Sharkbait: Are you interested in this business proposal I have?
Me: (Quite apologetically) Uh... not really. Sorry.
Sharkbait: Ok, thank you for your time anyway.
Me: (Sighs in relief) Ok...
Sharkbait: I just thought you were intelligent enough to... (something something that didn't register but I knew I was being insulted WHAT THE HELL?!)
Me: (Trying not to laugh) Oho! Excuse me?
Sharkbait: I just thought that you would understand, since you came from a prestigious school. (Oh, please!) I also came from a prestigious school- I'm from Ateneo.

Basically where the camel's back breaks. I can let it go that he couldn't get out of the smelly funk that was his script because it happens to all telemarketers and respective hybrids when they're nervous and unsure. I can let it go that he took my questions as an affront and insulted me personally because it is only natural (albeit a lower form of animal instinct) to fight back when attacked, and well, I did kind of make fun of him on purpose. But I can not let him use the Ateneo when he just bungled everything up so spectacularly and in very, very bad English!

Me: Oh, you're from the Ateneo?
Sharkbait: Yes, so-
Me: Yes, so WHAT!? YOU'RE FROM ATENEO. I'M FROM ATENEO! (And clearly, you being Evidence A and I being Evidence B, there are bad fruit sprouting from the tree everywhere.) WHAT DOES IT MATTER!?
Sharkbait: (Hastily) Ok, Ms. Andie. Clearly, you're maybe in a bad mood or you just don't want to talk, so thank you for your time.

He hangs up. I am left amused, but not amused.

It's nearly UAAP Season again, people. We have to get our acts together. If you manage to put your foot in your mouth in the heat of the moment and in the bendiest kind of way, tell them you're from La Salle.

I hate Andie (aka What happens in Batangas stays in Batangas) II

2008-05-12T21:10:00.005+08:00

Reading: The Eliza Stories by Barry Pain, Lord of the Dead by Tom Holland
Watching: Rear Window (Jimmy Stewart, Grace Kelly)
Listening to: Guilty in Here - Miranda Lambert

I should have taken that song up there that's stuck in my head all the time lately as an omen - a really, really bad one. It sucks how this blog seems to have gone around as much as it has already so that I won't be able to get into any details without bringing even more trouble to myself. Suffice it to say the lyrics of the song are even numerically spot-on, and that I've discovered a new sickness I seem to have.

Apparently, I have a compulsion to kiss back anyone who kisses me. I'm not crazy enough to have tried it without being under the influence of alcohol, but I'm not stupid enough to even consider it either. Ah, drunken mistakes. You spice up my life of unrequited love in all the wrong and needless ways. I promised to stay off Señor Cuervo and Ol' Seafarer Morgan, and I did. Only nobody told me red wine was not only delicious and nutritious, but also equally life-altering in the ruinous kind of way.

I don't think I can pin it all on alcohol anyway. If I hadn't realized it correctly already, one of these days, it will be proven that Internet personality quizzes never lie - consciously or otherwise I am, as it says, "a juggernaut of sin." Let's just hope damage control for this one won't be as much of a bitch because I am still consistently being pushed away by the one that I want and no matter what kind of fucked up bell curve you use for comparison, none of what happened last weekend still makes sense to me. God must've been drunk and celebrating with us at the bonfire that night. Beer bong, banzai.

Happy Birthday to me

2008-03-14T09:56:00.002+08:00

Reading: Right, ho! Jeeves by PG Wodehouse
Watching: NYPD Blue (Season 1)
Listening to: Crazy - Patsy Cline

I wish we're all living in some Neo-Nazi-encumbered world instead of this fatuous and dusty piece of crap you're all frolicking in right now. Kind of like Dr. Zhivago with more oppression and less snow. That way we won't take even the simplest of things, of feelings, too lightly. If we had to fight and die for love and sex, we wouldn't be cavorting and sneaking our grubby fingers up every skirt we find. And girls wouldn't be such sluts. Oh, there would still be sluts, but they'd be virtuous sluts that save babies' lives.

We should. We should fight for this shit. When something should be felt as strong as it should, the essence is often lost in smog, translation and laissez faire; and when someone does come along and feels that strongly about you, you think they're off their rocker. The odds for love should never be so much in our favor we only leave it up to pure dumb luck to find it. There should be dreams, a struggle, constant effort. There should be dreams.

Where in hell is Metrowalk?

2008-03-03T00:32:00.006+08:00

Reading: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig
Watching: 3:10 to Yuma (Russell Crowe, Christian Bale)
Listening to: Homeward Bound - Simon and Garfunkel

I went out tonight. It's so tiring, going out. I even got yelled at. I had to be jolly for six hours straight, and optimistic about life and love, and I had to drink coffee near the end of it, which always does strange things to my stomach. When Mike and I were left alone at the end of the night, I just crashed. When I finally let my guard down, I realized how I'd been holding myself up all that time and how much effort it actually took.

I don't know how regular people do this week after week. It either gives me a newfound respect for them or makes me think they're actually bigger idiots than I'd thought of them before. It's absolutely draining, not having to totally be yourself because of course, one's true self, no matter whom one might be, is always a bit more freaky to everyone else, save for the friends who already love and understand you unconditionally.

New people are definitely not to be put in that category (unless you're a sociopath). But apparently, the new rule of engagement for these modern times is that you have to go out and meet new people in order to find those choice persons who would eventually like you for who you are. It's a vicious and very exhausting circle, this.

Don't get me wrong: tonight was heaps of fun. I didn't realize what I did until just now. I was happy in the moment, but did I go home satisfied? Hardly. I wonder if I'm really cut out for this world, so rude and unfeeling, all the while teaching you how to give pseudo-personalized service to every customer in management class. So bogus.

I'm not asking for much, really. Just someone who doesn't mind how I look or dress, laughs at my jokes, tell jokes I'd laugh at and doesn't mind that I take forever when I hunt for DVDs and secondhand books. A highlight in my resumé for whatever potential kind of friend is out there: you won't ever need to take me clothes shopping! Just get here, and now.

Oh, Harry!

2008-02-27T09:49:00.003+08:00

Reading: Star Trek Memories by The Shat (sorry, Mr. Dickens! I'm only reading The Pickwick Papers in the bathroom now)
Watching: Ultimate Jordan (LOLZ)
Listening to: Maybe - Up Dharma Down

Oh, darn it, go up a tree and scratch my Aunt Fanny! I was in a cab going to work last night when I passed a billboard of Harry Connick, Jr. who's supposedly performing the night after my birthday. For about fifteen minutes there, I was the happiest... something in the something. But when I finally found the page

Harry Connick, Jr. at the PICC Plenary Hall

all my hopes of finally getting to see Harry Connick, Jr. and his big... band were crushed. The cheapest tickets are at Php 1545. No chance in hell I'm seeing him at that price. I can't even read what I'm typing now if I lean back on my chair. The one after that is already at five thousand bucks. The ones that get you up so close you could see his pores are that Php 15000. That's nearly a month's salary, that. *sigh*

For the hateful people who could afford it, here's a diagram of the price zones. DON'T TELL ME YOU WENT, though. Worse, don't tell me your parents forced you to go and you didn't like it at all so you ended up texting your boy/girlfriend the whole time. I might not be able to help myself and rip your arm out and beat you to death with it.

Gah! Why do I have to love old-people-with-pensions' music?!!!

You're on the right track to learnin' the blues

2008-02-20T10:37:00.009+08:00

Watching: Oldboy
Listening to: Got My Mojo Working - Muddy Waters

I've recently found some amazing sites that suddenly made my music collection grow tenfold. One is Taringa.com, a Multiply of sorts in Spanish. Don't let that deter you, though. That's probably the reason why they haven't been taken down nor their content distribution moderated. Users upload everything from movies and tv shows to their CD collections. My favorite bit, though, is one page called The Chicago Blues Session, which has 59 albums up for download. I nearly peed my pants when I stumbled upon it.

Samples from the Taringa page:

The other is a delightful string of Blogspot blogs whose users - get this - rip their LPs and put them online. How cool is that?! I started here, at RangeRaver's Departure Lounge and just kept jumping around from the links in his sidebar. It's like finding the complete works of Charles Dickens at 50 pesos each at a secondhand bookstore. More pant-peeing ensues.

Samples from the Blogspot sites:

Now all I need is another job so I can buy an iPod. Thanks to Yvonne Yang, New York City's resident Queen of the Blades for giving me the first link while hunting for 50's bombshells mp3s for me.

Gone Quiet

2008-02-15T14:43:00.001+08:00

I was going to say something.

Don't Ever Change

2008-02-10T00:09:00.001+08:00

Watching: Serenity (Nathan Fillion, Adam Baldwin)
Listening to: The Fear - Travis

While watching what might be the season finale for House:

House: Things aren't where they are just because we want them to be.

I get a nudge and a knowing smirk from him. I'm wearing a finger puppet and give him the finger... and puppet.

House: ...but that doesn't mean they're where they should be.

I just smile my big, evil, know-it-all smile - the Queen of Theoretical and Argumentative Victories. It's Saturday night, though, and I'm... blogging. I wish Cat Stevens were here. We'll still be in an awful way, but together.

DENNY CRANE!

2008-02-07T10:30:00.000+08:00

Watching: Star Trek TOS (Season 2)
Listening to: Tide is High - Blondie

Well, well. In between my alternating throes of ecstasy and denial, I have been watching the original Star Trek series which my housemate Allen bought about a month ago. I'm only twenty-one and all I can remember as my Star Trek was Jean Luc Picard and The Next Generation, but by god, if The Shat didn't have it when he had it! Talk about sexy space captains.

Sexy space captain

The Shat

Just in time, too, I've found out, for the new Trek Movie that isn't from The Next Generation, but from The Original Series again! And I haven't seen anything since The Wrath of Khan, so... SQUEEEEE!!!!!111 Even the teaser trailer nearly made me cream my pants and now I can't stop playing it over and again.

So, prepare yourselves once more for phaser action, leggy lieutenants, Orion slave girls and get this - Simon Pegg as Scotty, Karl Urban as Dr. McCoy, Zoe Saldana as Uhura, (a little predictably) John Cho as Sulu and (drumroll) Zachary Quinto (aka Sylar) as Spock! Oh god, I can't wait til December and the ship hits the fans!

DENNY CRANE!

Why does it always rain on me?

2008-02-03T22:28:00.000+08:00

Oh, holy hell. I think I'm going insane. One of those breakdowns or something. I take everything personally now. Well, I always have - when people say goodbye first while chatting or texting, making me feel like I need them more than they need me and such - but this time, I don't just harbor hurt feelings and carry them around in my heart like a happy tune. It's like my reservoir has been filled with lead and now, nothing can be stored, even for just a bit. I get rejected, I don't have it bottled and built up inside me until I get so tired and burst into tears, no. This time, I get hurt now, I cry now.

What's worse, everything that happens seems to hurt me all the more. People have always said I tend to overthink and overanalyze things, making borderline paranoid associations that I actually consider just normal intuition and deduction. By how much more has it increased now, I wonder? I'm not becoming schizophrenic or anything. (At least, dear god, I hope not.) I just suddenly feel like I can see through the apathy more easily now, and everytime I realize how much somebody - anybody - doesn't care, it feels like somebody's stabbed me through the chest with a screwdriver and then started hanging heavy objects from the handle.

I don't blame them, of course. They're all busy themselves with their own lives. No one should impose him or herself on another person. I understand that, too. It doesn't help somehow, though. It still hurts, I still cry; it's all still very lonesome and pathetic.

You know, I bet this might be where supervillains come from. Disillusionment with the world. Horror at their apathy, at his society-imposed invisibility (his first legitimate power, of course). I think I'm not far from rock bottom. If I can still form coherent thoughts and words by then, I promise to let you know.