Incriminating evidence sucks.

Now I'm just waiting for all hell to break loose.

 

Pity. I was all too blissfully happy about the "crime" before becoming aware of the impending breakout of said evidence.

Townspeople, I beg of you, please don't be too harsh.

Currently feeling: shaking to my very core

I know I have been fairly silent about this whole damn thing for a long while now, but ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

I have had it up to my ears with him!

I do not ask for these things! Once upon a time, when I was still hopelessly believing for a particularly miraculous transcendence over cultural diversity, then maybe I still would have thoroughly enjoyed whatever happened.

But not anymore! Oh no, not anymore! Not when I've finally accepted my fate as a spinster who would spend the rest of her life in a lonesome cottage in Carmel with half a dozen orphaned dogs and would ultimately die a virgin! (That, or at least until the next ooky persona makes a lovesick/obsessed fool out of me yet again...)

Yes, being the ook-crazy, pathetic puppy that I am, this entry is still about HIM.

And what the hell am I ranting about?

In one month, in the span of one, horribly cursed, spankingly damnable, I-will-most-certainly-go-out-of-my-mind-if-this-keeps-up month, I have seen
the object of my affection, whom I have sworn to detoxify out of my system for infinitely many times over now, IN VARIOUS STATES OF UNDRESS FOR FIVE BLUDGEONING TIMES!

IN ONE MONTH!!!

And not even a single one of this sort of occurrence before the notorious month!

This is too much. I did not ask for this... this TORTURE!

Okay, first there was that time he just came back from swimming, strutting down the corridor with just a towel around his hips. (Fortunately I only saw his back. But still--it was quite a beefy back.)

Then there was the time he just got out of the pool wearing super short boxer-type trunks. Unless my eyes were deceiving me, those were preeeeetty tight little blighters, those trunks were. *Shudders* (Good thing I was at least fifty feet away. I reckon my brain would have imploded on the spot had I been within a ten-foot radius.)

Then, there was this other time he also just came back from swimming, also with just a towel around his hips. Only this time he already had his chest facing towards me. (Ye gads!)

Then, on another event, while I was waiting for someone (no, I was not waiting for him!) on the first floor landing of their wing, he unexpectedly descended from the stairs clothed only in boxer shorts, with his shirt just so conveniently clasped in his right hand (Why wouldn't he just wear the blasted shirt?!), and even proceeded to punch me lightly in the arm as he walked past me--like I'm some guy buddy of his!  The nerve!  I'm a girl buddy!  Delicate, dainty, and must therefore not be punched in any fashion by some burly mamâ-ish figure, no matter how cute a mamâ they are!   (This particular event had been most embarrassing, for I had blatantly ogled him (yes, I do believe he was aware of the ogling) for about a minute with mouth agape as if catching some unsuspecting flies for a quick munch, before suddenly remembering that it's quite rude to stare.)

And then finally... finally... just as my roommate and I were going around the bend along some corridor, he suddenly graces the vicinity by emerging from the nearby bathroom like some freshly-bathed Adonis, clad in nothing else but a towel around his hips, and even had the gall to not look the least bit embarrassed about it when he spotted us. (Nope. He didn't scamper away, didn't even ever-so-slightly falter, as if a couple of girls didn't just see him practically naked in broad daylight. The dense git even greeted us "Hello!", goddamnhim. Made my fingers itch to pull the damn towel off him, just to show the infuriating idiot the imminent consequences of walking around with nothing but a rectangular piece of cloth carelessly draped around your waist.)

Well there you go. I've finally gone blind.

Mind you, except for event number four (the one with the rude staring) and number five (for it is also rude not to say "Hello!" back), I had immediately averted my gaze to some random uninteresting object upon witnessing him, just so my thoughts wouldn't dwell on the vast expanse of skin I had just feasted my eyes o--I mean, coincidentally set my eyes upon.

I CANNOT STAND THE BARE-CHESTEDNESS OF IT ALL!!!

How dare he threaten my resolve of getting over him with washboard abs and steely biceps!!

Ooooohhh... he makes me so mad!

Okay, fine. Admittedly, he doesn't do it on purpose, but what the hell?!

Don't think I have this abnormal fear/hatred for bare torsos. Puh-lease, I have several male cousins in the family that walk around the house topless. However, I can't help but feel that the fates really have it in for me and have nothing else better to do than taunt me with his bare torso (for if it were any other someone's torso, I suspect I wouldn't have been affected as much), as if mocking me, all the while jeering "You are never going to get over him! Never! You're going to keep pining after him... FOOOOOR-EVAAAHHH!!!" with complementary evil maniacal cackles and intimidating thunder claps in the background.

Sigh.

I do not deserve this.

I NEED PEACE OF MIND.

Currently feeling: very very pissed.

As an accomplished alumni of the Arturo Eustaquio Memorial Science High School, an institution that produces avid volunteers of the Philippine National Red Cross at least throughout the four-year stay in our dear alma mater, it would be inevitable that precepts typical of a Red Crosser shall be inculcated into our already existing set of values and principles.

One of these precepts is to donate blood. In case you didn't know, Red Cross is a non-government organization that solely relies on donations of any form to continue in aiding those who need it, first aid or otherwise. 

And ever since the concept of blood donation has been introduced to my impressionable little mind, it has been my dream (yes, dream) to be one of those people whose blood could possibly save another person's life.

I was 13 years old when this introduction has been made. Much to my chagrin, though, they require the donors to be of legal age (in this case, 18 years old), so I had to wait at least 5 years.

Unfortunately, life in Ateneo has allowed this dream to be put on hiatus. (Read: Tinamad ako pumunta sa kung saan man ang Red Cross center dito sa Manila.) So my 18th birthday came, and went, and the altruistic dream has remained stagnant in the back of my mind.

But wouldn't you know it, Kythe is conducting a blood drive this week! Here! In our school campus! And I don't have to commute to some god-forsaken place anymore so I can donate blood!

So I went. SS Consultation Rooms 1/2 and 3/4. I have to admit, I had butterflies went I actually stepped foot in that room. Friends have told me that the needle is HUGE. But then the volunteers greeted me, asked if I wanted to donate blood. And I'm like "Yeah!"

And they said, "Okay, but we have to check your weight first."

 

And you know what happened next?

 

THEY TURNED ME DOWN.

 

THEY TURNED MY BLOOD DOWN. 

 

Why???

 

BECAUSE I DO NOT WEIGH AT LEAST A HUNDRED AND TEN EFFING POUNDS.

 

Boo.

 

Boooooooooooooooooooo.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

*

 

On any other occasion, I would have jumped for joy.

Gosh. I never thought I'd see the day I'd be majorly bummed out because I weigh less than 110 lbs.

Currently feeling: ma-booo-hay

Ha! I just survived

25 straight hours

without FOOD or WATER!

 

Again.... Ha!

 

P.S. Not a hunger strike. More like, I'm so goddamn busy I actually forgot to eat.

Currently feeling: HA!-ppy

Last night, I had a dream.

We were on the run--Ook, some other guy, some other girl, and myself, and our terrible foursome kept traveling, going from bus station to bus station, in the hopes of shaking loose whoever was/were tailing us. Suspense, no?

But the highlight isn't the running. No.

You see, Ook, in this particular dream, happens to be the man I married. And wouldn't this be just thrilling? Like an actual (albeit in a dreamlike fashion of actuality, of course) Bonnie and Clyde experience! With two extra people!

More than that, though, Ook happens to play some other important role in my life (at least in this dream).

 

 

 

He is also my brother.

 

 

 

EEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Uuuuuuuuggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

 

Yuckyuckyuckyuckyuckyuckyuckyuckyuckyuckyuckyuckyuck...........

 

Please excuse me while I vomit.

 

*Vomits*

 

 

This dream could have several interpretations:

One:   I am a veeerrrrrrrryyyyyyyy sick person.

Two:   I like him so much that the utter repulsiveness of an incestuous relationship could not hinder my love for him.

Three:   I should think of him only as a brother from now on because being him with would only mean a life on the run.

Or four:   I am a very sick person. Period.

 

Option Three seems to be the most logical among the group, wouldn't you agree? But I daresay Option Two touches a nerve somehow.

Uuuggghhh.... I shudder at the thought.

Currently feeling: To the toilet bowl!

The heavens.

The skies.

The existence of such otherworldly matters are usually given recognition only in the luxury of our rare chillaxing leisure accompanied by (what we would like to believe) philosophical depth, and/or during saccharine lovey-dovey moments with some starry-eyed sod while the both of you stare dreamily at the inky blackness of the night sky showered with an infinitude of diamantine, sparkly, twinkly bits.

(Yes, tis bitterness you taste, for I too am a starry-eyed sod with, unfortunately, no one to stare at the night skies with.)

Yet the depths of the heavens are, for most of the time, taken for granted. From whence, after all, comes a direction which least affects us grounded, earthly mortals.

From the left and the right, from front and from behind, we are frequently bombarded by our fellow earthly beings and their inventions--especially by the horizontally challenged ones. From below, we are constantly tested by gravity and the undulating ground we walk on. Yet what can be expected from above? A few airplanes zooming by, a little birdie carelessly flapping away, and nothing else but air, right?

But citizens, be warned! For the heavens shall strike you when you least expect it! I should know. For today, I have become one of its victims. In Zamboanga City Grandstand.

I was walking towards the car parked beside the bleachers, when all of a sudden... SPLAT! Something hit me on the head. Oh, how I prayed "Please just let it be rain... Please just let it be rain..."

But it did not feel like rain. Rain is not slimy. Rain is not viscous. And despite the texture, rain does not come and go with just one drop. So no, it was not rain.

"Oh shit. I've been hit by bird poo."

But it did not look like avian excrement either. Yes, it was slimy and viscous, but it was also clear and bubbly (as weird as the latter may sound), with no other feces-looking aspects.

Can you guess what it was?

 

My friends, I had just been hit from above by SPIT.

 

EEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Some ill-bred idiot obviously thought it a bright idea to casually spit way up from the top bleachers, without giving any effortless thought that some poor unsuspecting soul could be passing by 75 feet below.

Oh, the horror!!! THE HORROR!!!!  It made me sick to my stomach. I daresay I'd rather be hit on the head by birdie poop than human saliva.

I could have mouthed off with a lovely, graphic string of curses in that moment of utter repulsion, but I was with Pa & Ma and I couldn't risk giving either/both of them a heart attack. That, or some groundwork for my disownment. So even if I had just been robbed of my dignity, some modicum of self-restraint was still expected of me. However, self-control is an art that I have yet to master completely (loads of room for improvement, actually), and I still gave my sports-loving/health-conscious public one helluva scream.

Forget that I was still aching all over from tennis. I'd rather risk pasma  by getting my hands wet than keeping that disgusting dollop of goo on my head for more than a minute. Ughhhh, I'm already gagging just thinking about it.

While the comforts of home were still not within reach, the futility of simply washing it off with water will have to do in the meantime. Needless to say, the gagging continued during the ride home. But as soon as we got there: dash to the bathroom, shampoo, lather, rinse, shampoo, lather, rinse. shampoo, lather, lather, extra hard lather, rinse.

So forget that my hair will be as dry as the Sahara dessert by the end of this maniacal shampoo session, too. All in the name of drool-free hair.

 

And what did we learn today? <-- gross grammatical error now corrected. sorry about that.

Don't walk alongside bleacher buildings.

Oh, and keep your spit to yourself. No one is soliciting for your DNA, especially if you're some uncouth neanderthal who wouldn't know the first thing about proper conduct in a functioning, cultured society.

 

To the anonymous drool adventurist: Go learn some manners, you uncivilized lowlife!

Currently feeling: NAUSEATED and OUTRAGED

 

 

Suppose you see the guy of your dreams. What would be a normal initial reaction to this situation?

• Feel kilig? DUH!
• Walk up to him? Or at the very least say hi? WHY NOT!
• Longingly stare at him as if he's the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in your entire life? ADMIT IT!

However, being the sick, screwed up girl that I am, I suddenly felt VOMITING. (Kambing Boy experience, here we go again.)

I will not deny that I did feel slightly kilig, but for reasons unfathomable to this distraught author, I avoided his gaze as if it would burn me to the firy pits of everlasting hell, which made me feel like the most impudent scum-of-the-earth snob to ever exist, which further led to an even stronger feeling of nausea.

We're friends, for crying out loud! And he was just 5 feet away! The least I could have done was give him a nod of acknowledgment, right? But nooooooo, I just had to ignore him, when he's actually in a way better position to ignore me considering I'm the one rumored to be chasing after him. Sheesh, I'm so full of it.

The sickening sensation did not fade even long after that cursed mal-serendipitous moment, so in an attempt to release the building pressure, I jogged. Go figure.

So I jogged. And I jogged, and I jogged, and I jogged some more until the queasiness subsided.

I still feel horribly rotten though.

AGENDUM (for the benefit of my self-righteous needs): Give him the usual greeting (Ha! We have a 'usual greeting'!) the next time I see him. Extra cheeriness should be considered, if only to compensate for complete lack thereof in today's meeting. Take caution to not overdo it--for obvious reasons.

Hmmm... sounds like a plan.

I wonder... 

It’s been ages since my last entry, and I’m afraid this definitive pattern of sedentary updating shall persist until God knows when in light of my valiant effort of sacrificing the wonders of the internet so I may (attempt to) concentrate on making schoolwork my life—with migraines and eye strain and everything. (Whew!)

‘Tis an epiphany, I tell you!

Haha can you believe it?

Anyway, on with the updates!

1. Obviously, I'm back from sembreak. My welcoming committee in Zamboanga Airport consisted of Mama, Pipong, Morny, a police line, several onlookers, and a dead body. Ah... good ol' Zamboanga. Hehe I'm kidding. This isn't normal by Zamboanga standards. But for some reason, policemen were the "in" targets of murder during sembreak. I wonder why.
2. Currently 10 shades darker and 3-5 pounds heavier. Played tennis during sembreak under the blazing heat of the sun. Unfortunatety, all that work out did not compensate for the truckloads of food I ate.
3. For this sem: Ma195K.1, Ma195H.5, Ma161, AMC32, Theo131, Ph102. Well isn't this just peachy. 
4. Ook detoxification is definitely making progress. Haven't seen him since last sem, and I'd like to keep it that way until detoxification is 100% complete. See? I'm willingly not seeking him out! Yey me!
5. Am now back on the de lata diet. Not really for weight loss purposes. That's just an added bonus. I just want to get rid of them before they reach their expiration date. Anyway, it's money-saving. Although very unhealthy...
6. I want to shop. May be extended to "I need to shop." I have dress code from Monday to Friday for this sem, and my wardrobe unfortunately cannot accomodate such circumstances. If you've seen the usual clothes I wear to school, you know what I mean. (Haha! Excuses!)

And that's about it. See you in a gazillion years!