Thursday, December 21, 2006

mAmbO cOw


My hair smells like cigarettes, rock and roll, one-meter mosh pits and a drunken pick-up line. And this is after two heavy-duty washings, complete with that vigorous towel-to-hair rubbing one does in front of the electic fan.

Buhok ko pa lang yan.

Am in Paranaque, after braving the Christmas traffic ng Metro. Waaaaaaaah.

And so there I went, across the barren fields of what was once known as the Metro, with metal machines and pop-eyed zombies, carrying all that I owned with me: three bursting bags of clothing, my writing, and my robotic companion, an ancient Laptop.

Narrative, over.

Basta. Nearly collapsed upon arrival at my lola's house, but of course I couldn't do that, with two gigantic families, plus the odd women, on board. I love my family.

Haha, pasipsip.

Little cousin, Chloe, gave me one of those stares of hers and asked, pinched-voice-like, "What's she doing here?"

I had to remind myself that she was a child and that, no matter how gurlahbag (sound of ewwness) I feel about them, certain rights have been awarded to the species.

And so, my response: "It's Christmas, darling." And that's another reason why I've reined in my hyperactive homicidal tendencies.

That said, ilang tulog na lang, Pasko na!!! :p

In the words of my once and future husband, Daniel Radcliffe, "Happy Christmas!" sabay dimpled, dorky smile.

tHis siOmAi


I'm surprised I have the energy for this.

After a relatively draaaagging last day (woohoo, school's out!) and a relatively peaceful pa-writer moment sa Bo's Coffee, Nikita Launcher, Sarj and your resident whiny whiner flew to I Don't Know How to Spell the Place's Name at Eastwood City to watch Urbandub and some six bands that I blah blah blah.

Anyway. Urbandub experience was mind-soaring. Had Iced Tea the entire night yet I felt completely drugged and drunk ne'ertheless after their performance. Ang lupheet. Whoo. You have a convert right here ladies and gents.

Little Boy From Hilera was trying to pick me up (haHA) but I was too deep in my Urbandub Zone to pay notice. 'Sides, I think LBFH has no idea what happened kanina.

Went home, courtesy of Mr. Designated Driver, Yaps Estagle. Teka, nakauwi ka ba?

Panda.

(predated)

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

caUgHt uP


This morning, I woke up with at least three messages in my Inbox, all asking about a fire in the area. I did something that passed for thinking in my groggy state: If I slept through the fire and the probable parade of wang-wang firetrucks, then I must be ... dead.

Then my mom called to wake me up for today (told her she should cuz it'd be impossible for me to do it on my own), and I realized that, dang, I'm still very much alive.

That said, I survived two more cosmic tragedies: SCI10 (fucker) and Aesthetics long tests. Wee.

<<-->>

Bye, friends. Merry Christmas. I'd have given everyone hugs but then there'd I be ruining all your stoic holidays. Waaah.

*hug*

<<-->>

More indications that I am going off my rocker regarding glaring singlehood:

Why do I find myself considering it a personal affront when someone slips "girlfriend" or "boyfriend" into the conversation? Like, "Blah blah blah my girlfriend blah blah blah." Soreeh. May girlfriend ka, ako wala (uh, boyfriend).

It's just funny, in hindsight. Ha. In hindsight.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

reEmEmbuR?


Flashback!

Little (girl) boy

Me checking out toxic substances

Sabi na something was going on.

Ang shoo-weeet.

Gravehopping na lang nytlyf ko.

What was I doing?

Why is he happy?!

Don Gabriel Murillo and his bitches

Nikay with extra head
(I am your conscience)

Aw, happy days, highly nuclear reactive bathwater notwithstanding.

Monday, December 18, 2006

tHe jUjU biRd


I feel gassy. Gaseous?

Anyway.

Monday was the best day of my life. So far. My Wi-Fi works, my CD player miraculously fixed itself and Krip Krip Krip...

Oh, wow.

I'm starting to get suspicious, haha. Parang wala akong regalo ngayong Pasko, aside from one of my brothers promising to be my slave for the holidays. Hai.

Wrecked Yaps' porma to someone special. Buwahahahahaha. I am happier. :p Jokelang. Go Yaps! :)

(predated)

scAveNger huNt


Ten minutes before 430 which means ten minutes before my last Fiction class for the year which means about twenty minutes before Krip Yuson finally arrives. Since making an ass out of myself last week, I've been dreading having my story picked tonight, for the reason that I made an ass out of myself last week. So. Is anyone seeing the pattern here?

Had my French long test some two hours ago and I guess I butchered another human language. Hm.

Question: Parlez vous francais? (Do you speak French?)
My Answer: Non. Je ne parle pas francais. (No. I don't speak French -- which I said in French.)

Am I the only one who's finding this funny? Yeah, I guess so.

Got a teeny-tiny top from Sandelicious kanina. This is the first top I wore whose front buttons are straining. I won't delude myself that this actually means that my chest has, er, increased in size.

Updates later, after (hopefully not-so-mortifying) class.

Pink boy over there is annoying me. Patawad. Sa Pasko na.

Sunday, December 17, 2006

muLtipLe peRsoNaliTy


I have a SCI10 quiz tomorrow about Packaging Paraphernalia (actual title) and I haven't studied. I hate SCI10. I hate school. It's getting in my way of life. Haha. Then I have a long test in French, and I haven't studied for that yet.

Hey, I was bedridden for two days. Give me a fucking break.

Anyway, I wrote that down para ma-guilty naman ako. Yey.

At si Ate Mabs na lang tsaka ako sa dorm because UP roommies have vacationayed. I'm, like, so, like, envy-ness. ^_^

<<-->>

Let me bitch. You may choose not to read this. It just pissed me off because oh no, s/he didn't *snap snap*.

"i would like to say sorry for those alumni who wanted to participate in said team-building last sembreak na hindi natuloy. I guest that's life. Honestly im very disappointed lalo na dun sa mga inaasahan kong tumulong. Its hard for me to move for everybody.

sorry but dont expect an activity coming from me. i did my part. i planned so many, i gave my best... if their will be an activity maybe i will not include all... i will just announce it but i wont force anyone again... this is enough...

Para dun sa mga "nagbubusy busyhan" este hindi pwede ok lang... i understand!

may lakad kasi... este may pasok kasi...

para dun sa mga nagpakita ng support thank you talaga... for those who are still interested, make sure na libre kayo ng dec. para kahit papano makagawa tayo ng campaign videos na pwede ipakita sa mga students ng harrell.

once again thank you and good day."

Fine. But this really pisses me off. Just like high school. I don't fucking understand this at all. It was All Saints' Day week, damn it. Of course, we'd be with our families instead of traipsing around with people who made our adolescent lives hell, i.e. you people. And then, some people do have classes, unlike yours na kalahati lang sa school year na may klase kasi lagi kayong binabaha.

I don't get why we have to see each other every freaking time. Get a life, divorced from high school, where you just insist on staying, and then come back, a failure or otherwise. That's the way life goes. Do like normal people and move away from hometowns, don't see your high school people for ten years or so and actually forget some of those people. Better yet, lose the fucked-up high school attitude. Ilan taon na ba kayo, ha?

Don't get all chummy now when it really doesn't matter at all. Because, frankly, when I said that I wanted to get the hell out of that town, that school, you people, I meant it. And more than two years later, I still fucking do. Okay? Cool.

And don't you even dare say that I'm overreading, paranoid, guilty or all of the above because you flaming closetter, I can fucking read your mind. Four fucking years and some of you, six. That's almost a third of my life. It's called Insinuation, idiot. Look it up in the motherfucking dictionary. And if you forgot, that's a book. The one with words on it.

At isa pa, I'm not "this way" because I study in Ateneo. I've been this way ever since I can remember, and as I recall, that's exactly the reason why y'all were so hell-bent on ruining my life. Tupperwares. Urgh.

Hate me. Guess what? Being in Ateneo actually has its perks. BECAUSE I DON'T CARE.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

gOne, gOne, gOne, gOne, gOne.


“According to this theory, we love whom we love not so much because of the future we hope to build but because of the past we hope to reclaim. Love is reactive, not proactive, it arches us backward, which may be why a certain person feels “just right.” Or “feels familiar.” He or she is familiar. He or she has a certain look or smell or sound or touch that activates buried memories.”
- “This Thing Called Love,” by Lauren Slater. National Geographic, Feb 2006

“I never said what I needed. I harbored resentment, and then when no one was looking shot poison darts in the direction of my not-so-significant other. It takes courage to say what you want and what you won’t tolerate. And it takes compassion and humor to see through another’s wavering defense system, and pull them toward you. We are all players in our own dreams, fraught with insecurity, desperate to be loved. I am intelligent enough to understand this, yet so far not mature enough to act as if I do.”
- “The Misadventures of Maria O’Mara” by Deborah Skelly


<<-->>


I just read a badly-written debut novel about a partly destructive, wholly fucked-up love, and followed that with an article in the National Geographic, which detailed a highly scientific view (i.e. a highly unromantic view) on romantic love.

And here I am, ruminating on things I don’t even have.

Last night, I cried and shivered in pure pain, delirious pain, at that, with my entire body aching and burning something fierce, my head threatening to implode, my ears ringing and my throat and jaw in complete, glowing numbness. I went to bed in wool pants, a sweater and a trench coat. I nearly puked countless of times but I just kept swallowing it down since I was too weak to get anywhere and throw up properly. I sent a couple of messages to a couple of people and they all replied with, “Sasha?” I could almost hear their incredulity over the radio signals. Sleep came and went but my roommates assured me that I was in crazy-ass sobbing mode all the time.

At least four times during the night, I thought about never waking up. I’d already orchestrated a dry-run for my funeral. I’d like to have at least three people to cry, excluding my family. I’d like someone to sing “Amazing Grace.” I’d like to get roses on my jet-black casket. No orchids, please.

It got so bad that I swore off drinking alcohol, especially foul beer, for the rest of my life and re-resolving never to put a cigarette to my lips and to just stay away from smokers the world over. And you know it’s bad because almost twenty-four hours later, my resolutions are still set in stone.

(And thinking back, I guess this resolution also wipes off my already-crumby social life. I have artist and artiste friends. Everyone I know drinks and smokes one thing or another. So, there.)

Hey, we all have methods of catharsis. We all have novel ways of self-induced anesthesia. So I won’t even try to sound self-righteous. This is the person who once spent an entire weekend, plus one Monday, not eating and making up disjoined fiction/poetry, with several trips to the bathroom for fifteen-minute crying jags. All that over a boy, in the truest sense of the word.

Case in point: I was reading my Psych book for some unknown reason (and that, in itself, is a psychological disorder) and I came across a passage in some latter chapter: “Perhaps worst of all is the lack of relationships, which creates the deeply unsettling feeling of loneliness.” And I wrote that on every piece of paper I could get my hands on and, in exhaustion, I wrote a piece that defies any manner of literary categorization, which I will not post here because that will be rubbing salt on a gaping wound.

Better poets/writers/musicians/artists/Palanca winners/wanters have created better things in their abject depression (like a lonely kind of sadness?). And they did it with alcohol and sixty cigarettes and the occasional consideration of a seamless but evocative suicide. Too bad I’m one of those who can’t write in pain.

I will have to learn. I expect to be in pain more often as I grow older, physically and others.

I emo-ed out again. Haha. Oh, well, I find that I can’t apologize for that now. Remember, I’m still half-delirious.

(predated)

Friday, December 15, 2006

pLeAse rEhEat piZza


It must mean something when your walrus-ic, highly pro-administration, sexual deviance-abhorring, bitch fit-y Economics professor is remarking on the blasted fact of your singlehood. And that he could actually demand that you get a boyfriend now, so you could be called Bebeh.

Uh, no thanks.

Maybe fate’s trying to tell me something. Gosh, I wonder what.


(predated)

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

maLaLa nA tO


Amidst ruminations regarding imperfections, the odd French word and genetic modification, with a mushy 90s song in the background, I found myself looking at you (not entirely against my will but absolutely against my better judgment) and it hit me--

I am mental, sure, but this is terminal.

--I (think) I'm hooked.

Oh no. Oh, my.

miNimum deLiveRy


UPDATE: I just thoughta something... Do you have to right all your wrongs? Doesn't your wrongness make up a big part of who you are as a person? I mean, sometimes I'm a self-centered hag, a humongously conceited one at that. Then, I go all esteem-issues and walk-all-over-me-why-don't-you? Do I have to strive to get rid of the annoying things that make me who I am?

No. Haha.

There's a deluge of books and therapies and shows and ugh, missionaries and just plain irritating people who have nothing better to do with their own lives, who tell me that I am a speck in the white sheet of humanity. Haha.

I am incredibly flawed and sometimes I go out of my mind because of it. But it's fun being flawed, I think. Yes, yes, it is.

<<-->>

KAILANGAN NATING SUMAYA. Haha. Ang weird ng posts ko. Wooo.

<<-->>

Seule
means alone in French. I wanted to ask my prof if the French use a different word for that deeper aloneness but I didn't want to risk sounding stupid and incredibly schmoozy, since I already do, most of the time.

Ang emo naman kasi. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Seule. Is pretty. Je suis seule. Ah, non, je ne suis pas seule. (Tama ba yun?) Wee. Emo-ation. It's up there with "I like you to distraction."

Get a grip, Miss Seventeen-Year-Old.

Aherm. Plug lang: Let's go to the Serenata thingie by Heights. Friday sa Bubble Gang Toppings, 630 PM. Let us listen to musicalized poetry (but isn't it musical already?), drink (ooh, drink) and be merry. Yeah. Tickets are PhP120. Buy from Sarj.

Add to that, wala na akong pera.

See ya.

Monday, December 11, 2006

a huNdrEd feEt taLl


Sometimes you have to act like a gigantic ass to get a point across. Throughout this wanker (excuse me, John Constantine lingers) day, I've felt like a gigantic ass though I don't think I got any of my points across at all.

First of all, my guidance counselor didn't get me. I like ___ but it's not as if it's ___, though sometimes, when I find myself ___ about ____, I have to reconsider. It has to be abnormal, this ___ thing. I chalk it up to ___ and the fact that there's no bloody (see the Constantine-ity of it all?) decent ___ around. Come on. I harbor no realistic fantasies about this ___. The two of us together is a walking nightmare. The bloodcurdling screams of one friend upon knowledge is enough of a statement, I reckon.

I am just being a seventeen-year-old girl with too much time and no cuddly-wuddly whatsoever on her hands.

And you know what my g.c. said, after I stuttered my way through that confession? That I should be my-fucking-self. Better yet, she told me that I should just come up to the douchebag and say, "Hey, I like you to distraction."

Sure. That works.

<<-->>

Second thing that's happened today was that disaster after Fiction class. The wound's too raw right now and I don't think I'll ever live it down (here I am, being fatalistic again). Lemme just say that I acted like a motherhumping groupie. That it seemed like I was dropping hints, fishing for something. Agh. This is too much humiliation for one human being.

I look too much like a blimp in this sweater. Arrgh.

<<-->>

I need to talk to a Man. One with the correct hormones. I already tried talking to Charz once, in our mutual drunken stupor, but look at how that turned out.

Which reminds me: Yaps Estagle, you better stop making all those limp-bleeped remarks about what happened at Cantina because so-help-me-Elvis, I will fucking roll you in Plastic Wrap and put you in a rusty shredder. There.

Saturday, December 09, 2006

suGar we'Re gOiNg doWn


Claps to Charz for a rousing (a-space-rousing) rendition of Fall Out Boy's song. This is not sarcasm.

<<-->>

Posted new story sa prose site ko. (Sorry, tamad ako lately... :p) This is the story I submitted to Krip's Fiction class. It's yet to be evaluated (read: butchered) by Krip himself and my well-meaning classmates so now that I've posted it, everyone's privvy to my future humiliation. Wala lang.

It's called "The Return" because I am a complete shithead when it comes to titles. It's a sick story. I made it in two days so the it's not perfect. A day after I submitted it, I freaking cringed and thought: How the hell could I have possibly written that? It's just so reflective of my repressed state.

Okay. That's the intro.

<<-->>

My katamaran is catching up. Everyone's (well, two) doing the Sasha thing. Wise decision, my friends. Wise.

So, here are twelve epiphanies from last night, and this morning, when I woke up with spots dancing in front of my eyes:

(one)
I am (theoretically) a good kisser.

(two)
I am a fantastic camwhore. I know all the angles and good sides. (Hello, Britney.)

(three)
Last night was a lousy time for my hormones to re-awaken.

(four)
Running around Alabang, then into a grocery store, then back out to Alabang, in grape dresses, trenchcoats and high heels just stink of a good escapist story.

(five)
Yaps is a really good designated driver / pimp.

(six)
My feet hate me.

(seven)
Trish is practically in love with me.

(eight)
Nee-kaaaaahy.

(nine)
Someone's not wearing baby blue.

(ten)
Charz is so working it.

(eleven)
Don't change _.

(twelve)
Drinking a can of the most disgusting beer on earth while having a hot shower was really random.

<<-->>

Have NSTP one and a half hours. I haaaate community service. Urgh.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

imAgiNary uM-fRieNd


Okay, I am over Daredevil due to the fact that it is over. With the metal bars of a jail cell slamming on his hunk-du-lovely face. And it ended there. Fantaaastic. Can anyone say biten with me?

Anyhoo, I spent a coupla odd hours talking to Cat (hello, stranger) and that sorta revived all the gothic escapist literature I've tucked under tons of French conjugations, ruminations on Brokeback Mountain fanfics and of course, The Man Without Fear.

So I know that some (a lot) of my widdle blockmates don't really like escapist lit, and with me throwing in goth, you'd all think Sasha's on the road to becoming the abhorred pseudo-philosophical bullshitter, not unlike Angela Carter and Anne Rice (there I said her name; smite me). But please, you love me, little Miss Sunshine, so you'll let this pass.

Come Christmas and fruitcake and counting down to midnight, Ima be back to my fatalistically dumb-ass angst and families that can't seem to get that they're related.

Speaking of fruitcake, last weekend, I was begging my mom to steal me some fruitcake from the office. You know how companies send all kinds of junk to other companies during Christmas. Anyway, there I was, chanting fruitcake, fruitcake, fruitcake...

Mom: There's a really gay guy on our floor.
Sasha: Not that kind of fruitcake. The one with nuts.
Mom: Well, he has two. Won't those do?

Yes. That is my mother.

<<-->>

I'm going to saunter off to hunt and forage for a gift for a certain someone. Awee.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

nOt tHe goOd kiNd


Hello. I'm back.

Wala lang. I just have this really crazy urge to babble on and on about Matt Murdock. But I have to stop. I'm on the sixth volume and I have no effing idea what I'm going to do after that. Asus.

So I begged Manny to lend me the first volume sa Hellblazer. Yes, John Constantine and his blonde hair and thirty-cigarettes-a-day. Hala.

(Medyo unrelated but I just have to tell this, as a self-condemnation na I've been reading way too much graphic novels: I was at the RSF, in line to print my Economics paper. And in comes Manny, in his usual get-out-of-my-way swagger, wearing aviator shades. And when he rounded that corner, I was just turning my head and everything went slow-mo. Promise. Tapos he removed his shades pa, parang stop-motion, then it sped up again. Haha. Astig. Kulang na lang, trenchcoat. Lupeeeht. Something is wrong with me.)

<<-->>

Yesterday, I went to school for my Fiction class and it was equal parts mortifying, funny and oh-god-that-is-so-bad-it-hurts. Really. I realize I am being a bitchy bitch once more, snooty CW major and all that jazz ... but really. There's literature and there's Literature.

Okay, I'm being bad. And snooty. Igh.

But Krip was harsh. Haha, especially went it got darker.

<<-->>

Today, ladies and gents, I was a colossal bitch. Me and Zoe, we're mates.

(I'm sorry.)

I feel so guilty, I ate two donuts. (Which reminds me: I got my body fat measured today. Haha.)

<<-->>

I rarely see some of my blockmates nowadays and even the people I was joined at the hip with last few sems have poofed out of the planet. (I blame this all on the painting room mishap). So, wala lang...

I miss you, guys. :')

tHis bOtToMlEsS beAnpoLE


Hello. Reming/Durian's gone to ravage Vietnam, where at least 37 people have died -- really rosy compared to the say, 500 people that went poof under mud and ashfall and whatnot in Albay. Not to mention the fact that I've got a really catty aunt and some family in there, smack dab in the middle of Legaspi City and when I text my lola to ask about them, she ain't replying.

So there. That's my cheery welcome to y'all.

<<-->>

Ahem. So where have I gone to these past odd days? Lessee:

THURSDAY - So school's out because of this widdle supertyphoon that chickened out at the last minute. Stayed at the dorm to do the KATIPUNAN article with Sarj, wherein we came up with a record number of euphemisms and enough cliches to give writing teachers the world all over a collective heart attack.

And then at night, I went to Cavite with my mommy. Wee.

FRIDAY - I am starting to miss Buffalo Chicken. This is bad.

SATURDAY - Can't believe I'm surviving this long without getting my fix of Daredevil. Matt Murdock, where the fuck are you?

SUNDAY - Happy Feet rocks because Hugh Jackman has a deep white trash accent. Wee. Haha, I want a penguin!

And then we ate crispy pata and kare-kare and I was in heaven.

Ayun. Ang profound no? Ay, ay, ay -- I've got a dress! And totally slutty heels. Yip-de-doo...