I'm starting to get used to spending my Saturday nights indoors. Although I'm still aware as to how abnormal this occurrence is, I'm actually able to do things while indoors on a Saturday night. Not absolutely productive really, but it's not unhealthy and debilitating either.

I remember some of the first Saturday nights I spent indoors (after the hardcore partying and clubbing lifestyle has been put to rest, I think), I seriously had no idea what to do. Of course, the default activity was going on-line, but even that can't suffice as an activity for the entire evening. The fact that the night is spent with me staring into the monitor and looking for skins for my multiply site is something that requires getting used to.

Saturday nights have always been spent by partying with as many people as possible or testing your limits as to the quantity of alcohol you can consume, or the number of clubbers you scandalize with your dancing. It's fun to be out there, and the thrill of the night and knowing people as they shed all pretensions in the darkness and sparkle of the flashing neon lights makes for quite a memorable evening. Yes, it's awesome.

And yet, I have also accepted the fact that not everyone is into this kind of a lifestyle. After all, it takes a certain level of physical endurance and extrovertness to be able to do this. Not everyone has that. On the other hand, there are some people who would just rather spend their Saturday nights to rest and reflect on the past week, and maybe chill with a good book with music from a Starbucks CD playing in the background.

Gee. Thrilling.

But seriously, it feels strange, and if I may, unnatural. At some point I even came to realize that maybe even my biological clock has adjusted to my previous lifestyle of toxic Saturdays. Like during those first few Saturday nights spent indoors, I would be wide awake even at 4 A.M., without the help of coffee (because if you knew me well, then you'd know that I don't drink coffee...so there, now you can say that you know me well). It's almost as if my body wouldn't let the day end without me downing a bottle of beer, or sweating to the beat of rave, or locking myself in a room where the smoke drowns the oxygen and the deafening music drowns our voices.

Then it gets tiring. Then there's no more new thing you can try or different club you can go to achieve the ever increasing level of excitement that you desire, unless you want to go extreme and do something really bad...but then you've probably had. It just didn't seem that bad when you weren't sober.

I still sort of miss those Saturday nights.

But these new ones aren't all that awful. Now I'm learning the value of how a good rest can do wonders for semi-ADHDd individuals who think that sleep is overrated and that rest is a waste of time. And really, despite our beliefs in our awesome strength and superhuman ability not to tire, we need rest.

It's 1 A.M., Sunday, and I think I'm finally getting sleepy... 

 

These on-line personality tests are totally getting out of hand! I mean you take the quiz, in good faith, following the instructions properly and at all times, spending your precious fifteen minutes trying to find out something about you, that is, as if the entire process of self-discovery depended on that one quiz. You ponder upon every question, trusting that you would be given at least a half-accurate result.

Then you get evaluations like this:

Popular (mean)

Yeah, you're popular but no one

other than your tight group of friends likes.

You're nasty to anyone that steps into your path.

Bitch.

 

-from "What High School personality are you?", a Facebook application

WTF?! Are you serious with that!? How is that a personality test? You can't just make personality tests with the intention of hurting other people! That is SO wrong! Who would do such a thing? I am SO offended!

 

 

Not. Haha. ;-)

 

 

Yes, David Cook won! I'm not exactly that big a fan of David "The Forehead" Cook (everyone can see he's this season's mediocre, and arrogant, version of Daughtry), but between him and Archuleta, I'd go for The Forehead! I can't stand the little kid!

There are times in our lives when we feel that pure darkness envelopes our world, that the only light we have to guide us and keep us from harm, harm from unknown entities and from ourselves, comes from one small candle with its flame so frail that it nervously flickers almost to its demise. We fear to venture out, knowing not what waits for us out there, but we can hear them. The awful howls and the frightening shrieks pierce the silence inside. Inside it is silent, and to us, inside is a place of warmth, safety, and familiarity, but the silence is broken by the howls outside. We close our eyes, wishing for it to disappear, and for our little light to shine brighter to allay our fears, but it does not. At times, our curiosity may get to us, inviting us to unlock our doors and step out into the darkness into the world we do not know.

But we do not.

For must we do, that little flame we have for so long protected and valued as our guidance is sure to die in an instant, leaving us in the dark, crawling on our hands and knees in a swamp of danger, trying to save ourselves from the cold, icy daggers that hit our body,  albeit with futility, as the shrieks and the howls become louder.

So, we stay inside.

What am I talking about? Hey guess what? It’s 10:00 PM, May 17, 2008, and typhoon Cosme is crazy! Fortunately for me though, my laptop has been charged and amazingly, the phone line’s alive! I say amazing because these two facilities usually occur as a package deal here in Baguio in times when you’d usually expect one of them to be temporarily dead, like during storms.

Anyway, its signal number 3, and I must say the storm is wild! I’ve almost forgotten how strong typhoons get here in Baguio. I mean the winds outside are so loud and strong that it just makes the whole place noisy, despite the absence of electricity which makes appliances run, which are the usual sources of noise. Add the fall of heavy rain and some iron sheets here and there that the winds have managed to displace, and trying to listen to music from the speakers is an exercise of futility.

Still, you guys, I recommend Safetysuit, especially for U2 and Coldplay fans. Look for the torrent.

Oddly enough, the storm seems to be subsiding just as I was writing about how strong it was.

Well, I spoke too soon. It’s not getting any weaker at all. Maybe I’ve irked it, I don’t know. Remember why storms used to be named after women? Well women will be happy to know that PAG-ASA has recognized that maybe even guys can be fickle-minded, so there’s gender-sensitivity right there! Haha. But anyway, all these typhoons mean only one thing…floods. Oh well that and that summer’s officially over. Boo hoo. But we don’t really have summer here, being a tropical country with only a dry and wet season. Hey I’m being a smart ass to myself, how twisted is that? The good thing is that I get to keep all those “winter” outfits I don’t get to wear anymore, you know, those thick and layered clothes that keep us warm when it gets really cold and wet. Yes, I get to wear them, at least until before I have to go back to Manila, where it’s just always sweltering.

Wow, did I speak too soon…and maybe too much. What am I doing? There’s a storm outside! Little tree branches are falling off! There’s no electricity! In times like this, I should…sleep.

Carrie Underwood and 50-Cent.

So how bizarre is this for you?

The explanation is that it's actually from the shoot of an energy drink commercial, but, I don't know, it just seems so strange. I got this from omg.yahoo.com, and below are some of the interesting comments that have been posted:

Every one thats posting those dumb ass coments please 50 can have who ever he wants even the suppose to be good girl. Even us good girls have bones in our closet. So Haters take that. I love you 50. Lil Mama

I know he'd LOVE to hit dat. hehe

Why does it always take success and money to calm people like 50 Cent down and make them halfway civil? P.S. I'd eat grapes out Carrie's ass

he is black

5o got a big head

woooow 50 you is the + no, la verdad soy de cordoba argentina pero 50 cent sos lo + sos muy groso un capo me gustan mucho tus temas jajajajaj AGUANTE 50 CENT

Spotted: Gossip Girl. Your one and only source into the scandalous lives of Manhattan's elite.

 

This show is seriously addicting. I first found myself watching this show on YouTube on that weekend when I was stuck in Manila and couldn’t leave the sweltering heat though my semester had been long over and there was nothing (school-related) to be done (well, for the second semester, at least). People have been telling me to watch that show, coupled with the statement that I’m going to love this show, and everything about it, like the clothes, the dialogues, the scandals, and the setting. I have to admit being resistant at first: I mean am I seriously that predictable that people can just order me to watch some TV show because they know I’ll like it?

 

Okay, so maybe I am.

 

But anyway, can you blame me for loving this? I guess those who recommended the show to me were right: there is so much about the show that any self-respecting, twenty-something, style-obsessed, controversy-feeding, ambitious, and all-around urbanite would fancy. (I wonder who that would be?) The styling is simply impeccable, with all the fashionable and in-season clothes which seem to be straight off the racks of some store along Soho, and not to mention the now-famous and widely-imitated headbands of the wonderful Ms. Blair Waldorf. And of course, I couldn’t just imagine the story being set in another city but Manhattan; New York City simply does not have enough of that classy tone of grey and sepia, and any other city in California just doesn’t have enough of that…hmm, class.

 

But then, I live in a third world country, right? J

 

So sure the clothes are awesome and so is the city providing the background, but it’s all about the intrigues and how our dear, young, filthy-rich (or just filthy like Chuck) protagonists handle them. The show may tend to remind you of high school, except that you probably didn’t own a multi-million dollar chain of hotels in high school, or slumber parties which extravagance is matched only by Marie Antoinette’s social gathering were unheard of. Yes that’s their high school.

 

But save these shallow, multi-million dollar differences with actual, real-life events, the show is able to explore the usual social and emotional turbulences in the life of the young: typical angst and frustrations with family life, the struggle to achieve ambitions, crossing imagined social boundaries and friendships.

 

And also, just like normal high schools, or schools for adolescents and up in general, the plot has its more than sufficient amount of intrigues to keep people interested. Everyone has a secret, and lives revolve around the secrecy of these secrets; friendships are built on it, and relationships are kept strong because of secrets being kept, well, secret. Of course, the revelation of it could only mean the opposite of everything I just said. And if anything, this show just proves that.

 

Wow, was I just talking about Dawson’s Creek?

 

Dear, of course not, Gossip Girl is in a league totally different from DC; yes, there’s a mysterious, reformed blonde, then a brunette with shoulder-length hair so in love with a guy who’s secretly in love with the blonde, and then a male friend who has sex with older women and likes to play around a lot. But the similarities pretty much end there, and these are rather vague similarities.

 

And besides, the fact that it’s set in New York means that the plot unfolds in such a way that is idiosyncratic to New York.

 

Anyway, I wouldn’t want to bore this show by providing an explanation as to how great it is. Just as the characters in the show do, just indulge and throw yourself into the phenomenon called Gossip Girl.

 

You know you love me. XoXo

Okay, for those hardcore Heart fans, don't say I didn't warn you, but I think I may have absolutely butchered this otherwise awesome 80s song, by transforming it with a legal twist. Oh my gosh that just sounded horrendous.

Anyway, after taking Credit Transactions (with a wonderful professor, I must say) and hearing the song from singing contests left and right, I constantly thought of this song as maybe speaking of a totally different concept, maybe a concept that involves borrowing something consumable and returning something of the same amount or value.

Yes, as a product of another break from studying for the finals (still Labor!), I give you, to the tune of 'Alone' by Heart...

 

A LOAN

 

I’ve been to many banks

Lending to you seems pretty stark

I wonder what excuse to make

A creditor’s on the telephone.

 

Your collaterals are valued so low,

Previous mortgages have been foreclosed,

A loan.

 

‘Til now, your debts were secured with what I own,

I’ll even sign as surety just to help you

But now that interests aren’t low,

How do I get you a loan?

How do I get you a loan?

 

The world knows you’re insolvent

Your debts have reached an all-time high

You don’t want to see the sheriff

He’ll levy on everything ‘til you’re left dry

 

But your obligations are clear in the Code

Here come your creditors so hit the road

A loan.

 

‘Til now, your debts were secured with what I own,

I’ll even sign as surety just to help you

Guess that you should now abscond,

How do I get you a loan?

How do I get you a loan?

 

A LOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAN!

A LOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAN!

 

Obviously I'm taking a short break from all that studying for exams here and there (right now there's Labor to prepare for), and decided to chill out with the internet as company. After constant reminders from some blockmates to check it out, I've finally decided to look for Bonnie Tyler's video of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" on YouTube. Actually the first time I was asked to look for it, my immediate response was: It has a video? Sure we were just all too familiar with the song that we just thought that the song itself was so full of drama a video was no longer necessary to hype it up.

But hey, there is a video.

And it's a really funny video. However, as I have mentioned in this blog's title, watching the video may have the consequence of causing death to your braincells. You will understand why the song's been known to be-gay, though it's not really obvious in the song itself. Yes, this video answers the question as to what made the 80s weird. It's...Bonnie Tyler's video of Total Eclipse of the Heart.

You'll never think of "bright eyes" the same way again...

 

Sagittarius (Nov 22 - Dec 21)

The Bottom Line

Upcoming travel should not force you to live in the future -- live in the moment.

In Detail

If you are about to go on a trip or long overdue vacation, your excitement is growing to a fever pitch. Today, it will hit such heights that it might be difficult for you to get any real work done. Upcoming travel should not force you to live in the future, however. There are things you need to deal with in the here and now. So try to snap out of the clouds today. Plow through the work and stay focused, You'll be free to explore and relax soon enough!

___________

Keeping that in mind, I now end this blog entry and go back to schoolwork.

The Bottom Line

Upcoming travel should not force you to live in the future -- live in the moment.

In Detail

If you are about to go on a trip or long overdue vacation, your excitement is growing to a fever pitch. Today, it will hit such heights that it might be difficult for you to get any real work done. Upcoming travel should not force you to live in the future, however. There are things you need to deal with in the here and now. So try to snap out of the clouds today. Plow through the work and stay focused, You'll be free to explore and relax soon enough!

___________

Keeping that in mind, I now end my blog and go back to schoolwork.

“Yes. Each night before we fall asleep we lie to ourselves in a desperate, desperate hope that, come morning, it will all be true.”

As children, we have always been told by the adults keeping watch over us never to lie. Somehow we have been made to believe that lying is as good as digging your own grave, or securing your place in hell, or maybe purchasing a one-way ticket to South Korea. Lying has always been deemed as wrong. And that my friend, is one big lie.

As much as I would like to think that I’m a person who strives for the truth and a world free from pretensions, I have realized, after reaching a semi-crisis, that lying may have its merits. As a matter of fact, there can be that situation where lying may be speaking the truth. Confusing, I bet. It’s just a matter of who you’re lying to.

It’s just a matter of lying to yourself.

When you lie to yourself, the first person you deceive is who else, but you. However, once you have deceived yourself and you yourself are under the false impression that the idea or thought or whatever bit of information you have forced into your head is actually true, then it’s not really lying when you pass on this information to other people.

Okay so it may still seem like lying, but I guess to be a completely valid defense (or helpful mechanism), you must be such a great liar that you may even deceive yourself. And trust me, though it may take years before a person can master such art, such really can be done.

But why would a person lie to himself? Sometimes in life there are just situations that we don’t want to think about, and for various reasons. Some seem too overwhelming for us to handle, or maybe some are just too distracting it takes so much our time worrying about it, or probably some are just things that we don’t want to care about, when all the signs seem to signify that we should. Whatever the reason is, a person resorts to lying to one’s self as a protective mechanism so as not to be made to deal with all the unnecessary drama that has to come with confronting the truth. If a person keeps on denying the existence of something, chances are “that something” would in fact cease to exist, at least as far as the person in denial is concerned.

You may not admit it (of course you wouldn’t), but everyone resorts to self-deception every once in a while. Acts such as refusing to find out answers to exams right after taking one, or relaxing in an expensive café, sipping the priciest latte on a perfect Friday afternoon while practically suppressing the fact of extensive corruption and immorality of the present government: we do them so often, but then, we’re not even aware of them. Duh, we’ve lied to ourselves about it.

The bad part comes once you rediscover the truth, and suddenly it isn’t so easy going back to the protective shelter of your lie, unless you’ve mastered it so well, going back to that protective shelter is effortless. The revelation is almost life-transforming, and the fact you have been trying to deny has now become even more overwhelming. This is when you confront it, and resolve the issue despite its being larger-than-life. This is when you overcome the lie, conquer whatever crisis, and learn to deal with the truth.

And in the end, you won’t have to live that lie.

Depending on the kind of the person you are, i.e. whether romantic or stoic, whether emotional or intellectual, whether mentally infirm or psychologically healthy, February 14 is a date sure to evoke an entire milieu of sentiments. Some people get keyed up, while some people feel absolutely nothing; some seem to be getting a fix from sniffing the love-ridden February 14 air, others would still rather get a fix from something else; and some just sob their hearts out or laugh till their jaws lock or do both at the same time, whereas others cannot get themselves to care.

I have always been in the latter categories of each dichotomy.

And as far as I’m concerned, that isn’t such a bad thing.

Yes, February 14 is indeed an overrated date. I mean what exactly is it that we’re supposed to be celebrating on this day? Is it even a holiday? If it is then why isn’t it official? If it isn’t, then why do we even bother giving it a special name? So is it some sort of a quasi-holiday?

The fact that February 14 has no essence that distinguishes it from the other ordinary dates of the calendar or puts it in the same level as the more relevant and meaningful holidays of the year had me thinking as to why we even bother with the Valentine’s tradition. The way I see it, the whole thing has now just become this annual commercial activity where certain consumable products amp up their sales by suddenly becoming in-season. Flowers, chocolates, candies, candles, toothpaste and probably even lingerie are just some of those products that fly off the shelves during this season (Yes, lingerie can become consumable; I’ll leave it to you and your imagination to find out how that might be possible). From this perspective, the Valentine’s celebration does make sense, but it still doesn’t give a good enough reason to sustain the tradition. We can’t possibly have a red letter day on our calendars simply because some toothpaste manufacturer wants an increase in profit and thus designates some day as THE day for executing his sales plan. That’s just so shallow.

Though mall-wide sales are red letter days in my calendar.

And then they argue love. Of course I couldn’t make a comprehensive attack without raising the issue of love. As the other side sees it, we need this day to remind us of how wonderful love is, we need this day to experience the often-forgotten-well, again-phenomena we call love. I can hear the opposition screaming: “Love is a wonderful thing!! What fool would not want to take part in a festivity, in a gathering for its honor!?”. 

Okay, that was just nasty. The only thing I have to say to that is that if love is so important, or if love really is so wonderful, then why do we have to set aside a day to commemorate it, as if it was a great thing or a grand icon of the past that can now be only venerated but now lived out? Why then does it seem like people are just merely memorializing love, as exemplified by the indulgence and emphasis at the non-essentials or accessories of love (such as the hopeless infatuation, the forced romance, the overpriced meals, etc.)? If love mattered that much, why reserve only a single date for it?

Why not a lifetime?

Indeed, we have overrated the unessential, and underrated the essence.

(Whether or not there is bitterness involved in writing this article is immaterial to the message. This is so mushy; can I just say that I didn't really have a definite trail of though while writing this? Next thing I know, that was how it ended.)

And so I finally found you.

 

For so long have I been resigned to the thought that what I’ve known is all there really is to life. For so long have I believed that destiny has crafted life so as to lock me up in my individual state. And yet all this time, you have been there, waiting to be discovered. And now I have found you.

 

You were once unseen, and never were in existence, until that one fateful evening I chanced upon you. I was aware that there may be something like you, but as far as I have been made to believe, chancing upon you was never to happen. And yet it did.

 

And you, you were there. All it took for me was to make a move, acting upon the realization that I didn’t have eternity to waste with inaction and constant imagining. I realized that I could make it happen. As it did, I now have more than my imagination to keep me company.

 

It was almost effortless, but as I look back, I wonder why I have never thought about you before, why I haven’t acted upon the impulses, and why I have ignored all these indications increasing the chances of your existence. Your presence was obvious, and signs should have led me to you earlier.

 

But now, I have found you.

 

Now, I have found you, bored.com.

 

BORED.COM, for those utterly boring Friday evenings spent indoors.

 

For our Midterm Exams in Criminal Law 2, our professor asked us to make this story featuring  six felonies, one from each of the titles we discussed before the Midterms. Despite being "funny" and "well-written", my story wasn't chosen. Boo hoo. Haha! I'm kidding, a really good one was chosen anyway, one with more gray areas, which was what we needed.

But I still want to publish mine since it is "funny" and "well-written." Besides, people somehow predicted that I was going to write something like this. If for some reason you feel like it, maybe you can try resolving the issues involved (i.e. whether or not a crime was committed, and what the crime committed was).

Otherwise, just indulge yourself in a really funny story, and hope you never get to meet Jessica.  =D

 

_________________________________________________________________

THE STORY OF A GIRL NAMED JESSICA

 

Jessica hated queues.

 

It was just another Saturday night in one of the posh districts of Makati, and as usual, Jessica Reyes found herself in the long queue to The White Lotus, the hippest, the most exclusive, and definitely the most expensive club in Metro Manila. Jessica was just getting sick of the whole waiting process. As she looked around, trying to rid herself of the boredom brought upon by waiting behind the velvets, she saw the handsome Nathan Cruz emerge from a brand new Mercedes SLK, presumably owned by this hotshot politician. Emerge is definitely the word as Nathan chose to climb through the opening in his car’s ceiling to get out; Nathan obviously, was not sober, as betrayed by the constant stumbling and his zombie-like manner of walking. As a matter of fact, the smell of burned marijuana he wreaked as he walked along was so strong, some of the people in the queue took a sniff to get high.

 

Jessica had a bright idea. Though in really high stiletto heels, she managed to jump over the velvet rope, unto the red carpet. She took a hold of Nathan’s arm, and laid her head on his shoulder as they both made their way into the entrance. Nathan, perplexed by the whole event, couldn’t get himself to object as he was just too stoned to do so. As they were entering the club (Nathan, being a VIP, didn’t have to wait in the queue with the ordinary people), the bouncer looked suspiciously at Jessica. Jessica, noticing the bouncer’s cold glance, flashed her left hand, displaying a golden wedding ring (Jessica carries one with her for convenience, as it discourages undesirable guys from hitting on her when in clubs). The bouncer apologized, addressing Jessica as Madam Cruz, then immediately had this VIP couple seated at one of their premier seats, costing as much as P15,000 for mere use. Jessica then took the liberty off ordering the finest drinks from the menu, the first five cocktails of which cost P7,400, said price taken cared of Nathan’s credit card which Jessica conveniently took out of Nathan’s wallet.  Every time they were billed for their drinks, Jessica signed the receipts, using the name Jessica Cruz.[1]

 

After two hours of drinking and dancing, Jessica went back to the VIP couch to order more drinks for her new found friends (she’s been going around the club, flashing her wedding ring, then pointing to Nathan; apparently this impressed people and now everybody wants to be her friend). Nathan has now totally passed out, and is in deep slumber. While looking for other credit cards, Jessica realized how handsome Nathan was. She paused a bit, then after a few seconds, she kissed Nathan torridly on his lips, then began groping him between his thighs.[2] Nathan, like any other male, was woken up by the kissing and touching; but unlike most males, Nathan tried to resist at first, except that he was too intoxicated and stoned to prevent Jessica from going any further with these unwanted sexual acts. Eventually, he himself found pleasure in Jessica’s lewd actions, and so he kissed back.

 

Jessica stopped when she felt some heavy breathing down on the back of her neck. No, this is not the heavy breathing she wanted, for as she turned around, she came face to face with the heavy breather, Angela Cruz, Nathan’s wife. The latter, enraged by the whole scenario, held Jessica by her arms, then tossed her into the wild crowd on the dance floor. This being a rave club, the patrons pretty much ignored Jessica sprawled upon the floor, as this was a normal occurrence in rave clubs. Wanting to get up, Jessica grabbed on to the big Fendi bag of Claire, one of those dancing on the floor, causing the latter to fall over Jessica. The crowd then began to cheer the two, some of them yelling “Take it off!,” while others poured alcohol over the two. Jessica pushed Claire aside, got up, and was about to leave the dance floor when she saw Angela coming to her direction.  She turned around and started walking quickly when she heard someone shout “Bitch! What’s your problem!?” Apparently, Jessica, with her very thin and very sharp stilettos, stepped on Claire’s hand, who was still on the floor at that time. Not happy with the incident, Claire threw her bag at Jessica. Jessica’s new found friends (those she treated thanks to Nathan’s credit cards) came to her defense, attacking Claire, causing the latter’s friends to come to her rescue. All the other club patrons, ever the envious crowd, decided to join in the whole affair, and soon enough, people were just randomly hitting each other and throwing shoes into the air, not minding who they hit, and in the process, driving the DJ to produce the best rave music ever known to mankind, which had the subsequent effect of further psyching up the crowd. In the midst of all this chaos, Jessica managed to find an unbroken bottle of vodka on the floor, which she thought she could use once out of the club. With all her strength, she wormed her way out of the once-classy-crowd now-mosh-pit she found herself in. While she wormed her way out, what she didn’t realize was that the unbroken bottle got broken in the process, fatally wounding D.L., who’s throat somehow came in contact with the sharp tip, causing his death.[3]

 

Micah, the DJ, saw Jessica try to escape, and knowing that Jessica must somehow be made liable for the chaos now occupying his dance floor, he got down from his platform, and apprehended the said female. In order for him to physically restrain Jessica, he, in good faith, felt that he had to tightly embrace Jessica to prevent her from going anywhere. Unknown to him though was the fact that Jessica was a really strong girl, as she still managed to break out from Micah’s embrace despite the latter’s bulky and brute physique. That she was touched without her liking angered Jessica so much, but as she recognized that she couldn’t stay any longer in the club because the authorities might come sometime soon, and because people have identified her as the bearer of the broken bottle that killed one of the clubbers, she grabbed Micah, carried the 6-foot DJ with her despite his struggles, and simply ran out.[4]

 

After ten minutes of running, Jessica thought that Micah was simply too heavy, and so she brings the guy down after having hoisted him over her shoulder for that period of time. She found herself (with Micah of course) in one of the residential areas in Makati. Micah, realizing that Jessica was simply too strong and fast for him to ever defeat her, sat down, then gathering his wits, tried to convince Jessica to just surrender to the authorities before they started posting “Wanted: Dead or Alive” posters of her all over Makati; Micah was obviously watching too many Western films despite being one of the hippest DJs in Asia. Meanwhile, Jessica just stood there, thinking about how she was going to punish Micah for his behavior of violently embracing her, or if she was still going to punish him. They were both silent for a moment.

Jessica looked into her faux Balenciaga purse, got her lipstick, and began fixing herself up, for whatever her reason was. She engaged Micah in a conversation, and after a matter of minutes, the two were talking about each other’s lives and its complications. In this conversation it was revealed that Micah was more than just a hip DJ, but he in fact belonged to one of the richest clans in the Philippines, the Zaragozas. This revelation, as expected, got the mendacious Jessica’s interest. As she put her lipstick back into her purse, she found a small bottle of Berdugo, one the strongest whiskeys ever created on earth, so strong it’s banned in the U.S. She took the little bottle, pretended to take a gulp, then offered it to Micah. Micah was apprehensive at first, but thanks to Jessica’s power of persuasion ( it doesn’t hurt to be drop dead gorgeous), he was made to finish the entire bottle. After 5 seconds, Micah suddenly felt extremely nauseous he couldn’t even bring himself to sit up straight. As he laid his back upon the pavement, Jessica reached into the pockets of his pants, and looked for cash or his wallet. She managed to find the DJ’s Ferragamo wallet, and upon opening it, got utterly disappointed with the fact that all it had was this one ATM card. Again, Jessica stood, stumped.

Meanwhile, a group of call center agents who lived in one of the apartments in the neighborhood passed by the odd couple and noticed the strikingly bizarre scenario. Not wanting them to think that she was at fault for anything, Jessica got her acting skills together, then suddenly screamed at Micah, who was sprawled helplessly on the pavement: “Pathetic drunkard! If only you worked as much as you drank then maybe we could afford to send our son to school! What are you doing with your life?! Is that it!? Are you happy living the life of a leech!? We can’t live like this! Stop being such a moronic slob, and actually do something!”[5] The call center agents watched the scene for a few seconds, then left; one of them, recognizing the man on the floor as DJ Micah, shook his head in disapproval, and said, “That’s just too bad. He played the best music in the city.”

They then got into their building. One of them though withdrew from an ATM located at the base of building first before catching up with his colleagues.

 

Jessica was so pleased with herself, but this self-satisfaction didn’t do much help in squeezing cash out of Micah, who, though conscious, was just so impaired by the alcohol that he couldn’t move from his position. The woman now felt another need for a dab of lipstick. As she looked into her purse looking for the Maybelline gloss, she found a tiny bottle of those perfume samples from Michael Kors. Her eyes sparked, and she smiled. She sat beside Micah’s limp body and made him a proposition: “Micah, what you just had was Berdugo. A little too strong for you, huh? Haha! Well guess what, unless you take the antidote to it, you’re going to have to stay there, in that position, limp for at least the next two days.”

Micah laid there, in utter disbelief of Jessica’s treachery.  Not that he could do anything about it at this point.

“But listen,” Jessica continues. “I am offering you the antidote for Berdugo, in exchange for your number.” Micah’s lips then began to move, his voice was weak, but he tried to speak with all the might possible: “zero…nine..two..zero…four…” Jessica interrupted with a really obnoxious laugh, and clarified herself, “Not that number! It’s not like you even date women! I want your ATM card’s pin number!” Micah laid there, quiet, obviously resistant to divulging the information that could set him back by P40,000. “Consider it, Micah. If I leave you here tonight without that antidote, limp and physically retarded, who knows what might happen to you? Some rabid dog just might take interest in you, or maybe some other creature of the night you don’t want touching you…”

This alarmed Micah, causing him to cave in: “one…two..zero…five…” Jessica grinned with the biggest smile ever made by a human being, almost blinding Micah with the flash of her white teeth. She ran to the ATM, and after a number of successive withdrawals, exhausted the account of P40,000, which she fit into her faux Balenciaga.[6]

As she walked by Micah, the DJ stretched his hand out, wanting the antidote Jessica promised. Jessica smirked, held the little bottle like a cigarette, and threw it away into the far distance. She walked away, leaving Micah lying on the pavement. Soon enough, another group of call center agents chanced upon Micah, helped him up and brought him to their apartment where he could recover from his involuntary drunkenness. He was fine after a couple of hours.

 

And so Jessica never had to do queues again.

It's 1:20 A.M., on a Saturday night, and I have been awake for almost 42 hours now. I don't really have any intention of beating my previous record of staying up for 45 hours, but hey, if the internet manages to amuse me well enough tonight, then I may just end up with a new record. It's not like it's only the internet that's keeping me sane indoors on a Saturday night. After all, I've already had two bottles of my favorite Saturday night company earlier tonight, so yes, I guess I'm okay with spending the rest of the evening indoors.

Why I haven't had a breakdown yet remains a mystery.

The past week has been totally horrendous. Studying for the midterms, preparing for recitations, and drafting arguments for defenses and prosecution for made-up felonies-yes, it all seems simple. But trust me, there is nothing simple about it. The fact that the necessary activity in life called sleeping has now been reduced to a mere privilege attests to that. I used to think that I may just manage law school well without having to cause a reduction in my already permanently-diminished sleeping time. This has been revealed to be an utterly false belief this week. 

I started the week thinking that it may just end with me in a really tight white jacket with hooks and clips and zippers all over it, and with the sleeves designed in a manner that would limit human conduct. Seriously. Sometimes we think that there are just some obstacles in life that are impossible to prevail over, so we just start being pessimistic until we eventually resign to the idea that we're bound to fail. This idea, consequently, makes us act in a manner that would tend to produce that result, unless we ourselves do things to the contrary. The possibility of just losing it was there, but at the end of the day, I know that I didn't want to.

Even more importantly, I know that I didn't have to. So I just did what I had to. Tasks were accomplished, results were delievered, and purposes achieved; as to whether or not others would appreciate the output as much as I do becomes immaterial in light of the fact that I'm still relishing on the self-satisfaction of being able to prevail over grave and utter difficulty.

Our problems are as big as how we think they are. The more we think about it, the bigger it becomes. The less we think of ourselves and our capacity, the more powerful our personal demons get.

I am happy to be sane and alive and able to form coherent statements despite the pressures put on me for the past days. I'm sure it's not the be all and end all of problems yet to come, but come to think of it, it makes for good training. Besides, when I say pressures, I don't just mean those whose source can be traced from school, but also those unnecessary pressures pressed on you by people who think that you've got to be of a certain status to be happy.

Sadly, THAT got to me. But I don't want to expound about that or any other imminent crisis further at this moment.

Right now, I'm just happy to be here.

For what doesn't kill me...

***What EMIL REY IBASCO BALALENG Means***

You are friendly, charming, and warm. You get along with almost everyone.
You work hard not to rock the boat. Your easy going attitude brings people together.
At times, you can be a little flaky and irresponsible. But for the important things, you pull it together.

You are confident, self assured, and capable. You are not easily intimidated.
You master any and all skills easily. You don't have to work hard for what you want.
You make your life out to be exactly how you want it. And you'll knock down anyone who gets in your way!

You tend to be pretty tightly wound. It's easy to get you excited... which can be a good or bad thing.
You have a lot of enthusiasm, but it fades rather quickly. You don't stick with any one thing for very long.
You have the drive to accomplish a lot in a short amount of time. Your biggest problem is making sure you finish the projects you start.

You are relaxed, chill, and very likely to go with the flow.
You are light hearted and accepting. You don't get worked up easily.
Well adjusted and incredibly happy, many people wonder what your secret to life is.

You are wild, crazy, and a huge rebel. You're always up to something.
You have a ton of energy, and most people can't handle you. You're very intense.
You definitely are a handful, and you're likely to get in trouble. But your kind of trouble is a lot of fun.

 

You are a free spirit, and you resent anyone who tries to fence you in.
You are unpredictable, adventurous, and always a little surprising.
You may miss out by not settling down, but you're too busy having fun to care.

 

You are full of energy. You are spirited and boisterous.
You are bold and daring. You are willing to do some pretty outrageous things.
Your high energy sometimes gets you in trouble. You can have a pretty bad temper at times.

You are usually the best at everything ... you strive for perfection.
You are confident, authoritative, and aggressive.
You have the classic "Type A" personality.

You are the total package - suave, sexy, smart, and strong.
You have the whole world under your spell, and you can influence almost everyone you know.
You don't always resist your urges to crush the weak. Just remember, they don't have as much going for them as you do.

You are very open. You communicate well, and you connect with other people easily.
You are a naturally creative person. Ideas just flow from your mind.
A true chameleon, you are many things at different points in your life. You are very adaptable.

You are well rounded, with a complete perspective on life.
You are solid and dependable. You are loyal, and people can count on you.
At times, you can be a bit too serious. You tend to put too much pressure on yourself.

You are very intuitive and wise. You understand the world better than most people.
You also have a very active imagination. You often get carried away with your thoughts.
You are prone to a little paranoia and jealousy. You sometimes go overboard in interpreting signals.

You are deeply philosophical and thoughtful. You tend to analyze every aspect of your life.
You are intuitive, brilliant, and quite introverted. You value your time alone.
Often times, you are grumpy with other people. You don't appreciate them trying to interfere in your affairs.

What's Your Name's Hidden Meaning?
http://www.blogthings.com/whatsyournameshiddenmeaningquiz/

"What would this color look like on her skin?"

Thus goes the first question asked by The Designer as he contemplates about the outfit he has been contracted to...what else, but design. He has already finished making several sketches, none of which seem to capture that exact image in his head, but they're beautiful designs nonetheless. He suddenly stops thinking how odd it is that he knows exactly how the outfit must appear, down to the minutest details, and yet he cannot make an accurate depiction of it on paper. Stumped as he is, he decides that the best way to do it is make several sketches and let the client choose.

The client's choice is important, but in the end, it's The Designer's whims and caprices that determine the outfit.

As The Designer temporarily decides to postpone the design choice, he continues on pondering about the color of the dress. He looks at his own skin, then realizes that his skin color is actually similar to that of his client's. Well, except that his skin tone has a more definite tan, and has a more uniform shade than that of his client, as if he has just skinny dipped in one of the beaches of Greece under the fine sun. Yes, he loves his skin color. And he loves his blue shirt on his skin.

Blue. And silver. Definitely blue and silver. Okay, so blue on blue, silver on blue, silver on blue, and silver. That's great.

No one else can really get that, but The Designer has a way of thinking that only he can comprehend.

Oh wait. The Designer suddenly remembers that he can't sew. It seems as though it's not enough that he can't translate his thoughts in a way that others would understand. The couturier has to understand. Ugh.

The Designer finally decides on a design. The top shall be halter, with fine, expensive lace layered over the material. It may have been a good idea to make several sketches then let the client choose, but come to think of it, that is actually a lot lazier than just coming up with one design perfect for the client. And The Designer refuses to be lazy. Why so? Mainly because by making only one design, The Designer has to go through such a long, tedious, and detailed process as to what would be great-wait-the best for the client. He has to think about an outfit that would match the proportions and features of the client; in short, it has to be a very unique creation. On the other hand, if The Designer were to just come up with several sketches and lets the client choose, that's pretty much it: several sketches. Sure, it's pretty, but how will it be on the client? If that were the case, idiosyncrasy wouldn't have to matter. Such a method implies utter irresponsibility or inability to take responsibility on the part of whoever follows the said method.

It feels great that The Designer has come up with the perfect outfit, and has decided on the colors! Bravo! And now, time to ask for The Client's approval.

After two hours and etcera minutes spent on fixing himself up (As The Designer, he simply will not step out into the world looking like trash...Eew.), The Designer is now ready to meet the client. He looks for the sketch, and finds it inserted in a pile of papers with word "versus" and "petitioner" written all over them. As precious as it is, The Designer hastily folds up the sheet of paper where the sketch was drawn and puts it in his pocket.

That habit is so unproductive. How can someone neglect his own creations? It's like Leonardo da Vinci painting a moustache above Mona Lisa's lips...then lazily folding it then putting it in his pocket.

Late as usual; no one really expects The Designer to come on time. As much as he is aware of how unprofessional it is, proclaiming divaness and egoism prevails over his concern of how others might think of him professionally-wise. Besides, the client is a friend, and they do more than discuss business when they meet. (...What business?)

"Ooh.", the client says. What kind of a reaction is that? Seriously. If you hate it, then just say so. But if you don't, say something else than "Ooh." "Wow, this is beautiful. You're very good at this.", she adds. Okay, that's slightly lukewarm but The Designer accepts it. Assured that the client is satisfied with the outfit presented to her for her upcoming graduation, he then proceeds to taking to her about the color. Luckily for both of them , the client also liked the color of the shirt that inspired The Designer to come up with the blue.

A lot of people in the industry love shopping for fabrics; unfortunately for The Designer, he doesn't seem to share others' passion for going into fabric shops or warehouses. It's too tiring, and it's such a tedious process. Truth is, The Designer has a lot more to learn about fabrics, hence the ambivalence as to the whole process of looking for the flesh of the outfit. This time The Designer has become so unsure of himself that he insists the client comes along. It doesn't take much for the client to be persuaded, probably a sign that she is very well aware of The Designer's limitations when it comes to fabrics.

The store assistant seems rather irritated. The Designer and his posse, which pretty much consists of the client and another fashionable friend have been going around the fabric store for almost three hours. They've taken pictures of some fabrics, of themselves, swapped conversations for at least twenty topics, followed by another two, played games identifying colors. The posse has done may things inside the store, except choose a fabric.

"Okay, all the blue fabrics look the same," says the fashionable friend as she peeps into her digital camera. The fashionable friend, being least privy to this entire activity (being neither a designer or a client), is probably the most bored. The Designer is very well aware of this. Despite his earlier statements totally condemning satin, he now goes to the satin section, realizing that isn't really much choice in his little city. 'It's tacky. I feel like I'm looking at a really bad wedding entourage,' The Designer thinks as he picks up the roll from the shelf. 'Or an early 90s prom.' But ever the tenacious individual that he is, The Designer knows that he can breathe beauty into this otherwise condemned material; he can salvage it, make something attractive out of it. Besides, he's really hungry. One thing about designers: they have much difficulty understanding the idea behind "fats."

Phone in one hand and the plastic bag with the fabric in the other, The Designer struggles to find his way through the crowded streets of the city.'Ugh. People.' Now comes the really difficult part: meeting the couturiers. In a world where people just listened and paid attention to instructions, designers wouldn't really have much problems in making sure their designs are followed. Unfortunately such world does not exist; or if it does then The Designer is aware he's not living in it. But he'll take the risk by giving the sketch to the paid couturiers.

"The lace is on top on this fabric, and then this fabric drapes over this one, so it delivers that Grecian grace...it's very Arma-...", The Designer's voice trails off as he realizes that he was about to compare his design to someone else's. It's the fashion industry. There is such a strong desire for up and comers to stand out on their own, and yet be at par with the established ones, and of course, make sure that the designs are trendy enough to command attention and hence, sell. As much as fashion and designing is also a passion, it is also a good source of green matter. There are too many self-contradictory events going on in that industry that it's hard to make sense out of the whole thing.

It's been almost a week since the fabric and the design was surrendered to the care of the couturier, when the client sent a message to The Designer. "The dress is a disaster. The cut reaches my last rib, there's an oil stain. It makes me look like a pregnant woman..."

The Designer doesn't know what to make of it. Unfortunately he is currently not in a position to check out the dress, as he's somewhere pursuing the realistic, the practical.

'What the fu-...'

Suddenly, for a moment it seemed as if the career that never even actually begun has come to an end. Shocked by the message, The Designer sits in utter disbelief, contemplating thoughts optimists don't know of. He sees this as a warning, as a big sign screaming to him at his face that some things are simply unattainable or too impossible or not worth wasting precious time on. Besides, the cases on the desk are piling up.

Why risk so much for something so unsure?

But if there's one thing that The Designer is not, then that's being a self-pitying, defeatist, loser.

"Shit. Where's that pencil?"

 

(FYI: This was written before I even read Imogen Edwards-Jones "Fashion Babylon," for those doubting the originality of the concept behind this article. But that book's a good read as well.)

This may come as a shock to a lot of you. I mean these words coming out of me...it's simply unthinkable that I would ever say them. But I can't help it, it's not like you can fight it that easily. As I've used this analogy before, it's like an anaconda traking grip of your body; the more you try to fight it, the stronger the strangle. And I've fought it so much.

I am in love with Amanda Tanen.

For those of you who have been living under rocks or in caves for the past year, you would probably have absolutely no idea about who it is I'm talking about. Some people hate her, for being an utterly cruel, self-absorbed, skinny, mean bitch. And some people are simply mesmerized by her...for being an utterly cruel, self-absorbed, skinny, mean bitch.

Surprise, surprise...I love her!

Amanda struck me as a totally insignificant character at the beginning of the show, "Ugly Betty." Big deal, she's a receptionist and she sleeps with her boss. Maybe it poses a change from the usual "the secretary's sleeping with the boss" element, but it still seemed trite.

But really, since when were receptionist characters ever interesting?

That's right. They weren't. Not until Amanda came.

What is so great about Amanda?

For starters, I love her look! Yes, I love her style and the way she puts the clothes together, but I'm not really talking about that look! I'm referring to this look she makes (Yes, one that appears on her face!) every time she gets extra-bitchy or sneaky or just when she's about to throw a mean but amusing quip against Betty or some slutty co-worker. It's a look that you'll have to see to understand for yourself. It's just a look; she's not actually saying things, but it almost seems as if she's taunting or even ridiculing you. Bravo! Now THAT I have got to learn. And I am in the process of doing so...

The creation of Amanda is pure genius, absolute perfection! (Okay, I may now be exaggerating, but she's just so great!) Of course, probably the most important element of her awesomeness is her ability to dish out cold, heartless, but totally witty quotes! Listening to her is like going to Bitch College, or I imagine it would be something like that. Some of my favorite quotes from her are:

"You showed up on a daily basis looking like a yard sale. Didn't even care. It's like you were genetically engineered without the fear gene. I gotta give you props. FYI, none of this means I like you or anything."

"Ugh, I'm still bored. Watching nerd love is so tedious."

"Amanda: What is the first thing I ever said to you?
Betty Suarez: Are you the 'before'?
Amanda: Okay, the second thing?
Betty Suarez: [gesturing in faux sign language] "Are you de-li-ver-ing something?
Amanda: Whatever!"

"Look around. We're a bunch of unstable, hungry, back-stabbing bitches. Do you really think anyone would sell us guns?"

"Were you saying something? Your mouth was moving and you were looking at me, but all I heard was 'blah blah blah."

 

Death-defyingly, unapologetically, certainly bitchy. Girl, you are SO in my book.

 

(You guys probably think that this is about something else. Seriously...whatever.)

The past weekend has probably been one of the busiest weekends of my entire life. Actually, not only that weekend, but the past weeks have rather been-filled with many things to be done (explains my semi-hiatus from blogging, which has now come to an end...well, a temporary end).
What could it possibly be that has driven me (or forced me) to stay awake for 45 hours? See, the past weekend was the last Sunday for the Bar Exams, and I thought, hey, what about helping out right? I mean I haven't done anything last year for the BarOps, so I guess now's a good time to help. The BarOps is basically a series of activities held annually by the UP Law Student Government (with the indispensable participation of the rest of the studentry of course), with the purpose of providing all out support and assistance for the UP barristers.

How long exactly was I awake? Let's see: Saturday morning, September 22, 2007, I woke up at around 6:20 A.M. I then slept on Monday early morning, around 2:50 A.M. I think that's more of 44 hours and 25 minutes to be exact, rather than 45 hours. But anyway...

What happened? I went to my classes on Saturday and had to recite for the afternoon class (Torts), drank twice (Saturday night in Anthology at Malate with Lor, then Sunday night at the BeerOps at The Venue with the law students, then Lor and her bandmates [the awesome Koko Pyup!]), travel back and forth from Quezon City to Manila, help out with some tasks in the Hotel early Sunday Morning, cheer the barristers as they board the bus, play "fun" games with Dianne about pronunciation (haha!), and of course, make sure the Salubong doesn't turn out to be a total mess! (Thanks to everyone who helped me and my co-head Carmi with this). And wow, despite the fact that I have been awake for 32 hours at Sunday 12 noon, I can still clearly recall everything that happened-vividly: every scream made, every phone call, every text message, every person who helped out, every person I talked to...everything! Even every slight threat made (by who? I don't know! Haha!) to uncooperative people and forgetful sound system conractors.

But all I I have to say is: It was great.

CONGRATULATIONS AND GOOD LUCK TO THE BARRISTERS!

 

By the way, I don't drink coffee or energy drinks.