One of the not-so-stellar facets of my otherwise very likeable personality is my tendency to blame everyone but myself. Okay, so that’s not very true as I actually have a deep sense of ownership and am the first to accept accountability for my actions and all that jazz, but it’s fun to pretend to be an asshole. Just as long as I’m not actually one, I tell myself.

I hardly got any sleep today, thanks to the incessant drilling and horn-tooting caused by the on-going sidewalk and road construction along Xavierville Avenue and RIGHTOUTSIDEMYBUILDING. But since I have mad skills (and a pretty thick comforter), I managed to slip into a fitful pseudo-sleep around noon…only to wake up three hours later to my housemate loudly singing along to Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas. NUTS.

And so I sat up on my bed, grabbed the nearest weapon I could find (a pair of black dusty pointed heels), flung my bedroom door open, charged towards the living room, and killeded my housemate. And everyone else in sight. After my 34-second killededing spree, I surveyed our living room and was shocked to see that I had killeded all my friends! Allah, Anna, Drew, Allah’s imaginary friend Fifi, Aa, and Klassy! All dead!

OH NOES, Murdererer!

IT’S ONLY MURDER, YOU GUYS, CALM DOWN!

Moving on: I don’t wanna go to jail for massacring a bunch of people, especially since they had it coming. It’s Their Fault They Died. So now I need a new group of Barbies to hang out with— preferrably Barbies who are replicas of my newly departed friends (but maybe not as noisy). If any good came out of this, it’s that I need new friends and YOU get the chance to be one of them, yay!

QUALIFICATIONS TO BE PART OF HELGA THE WEBER’S GANG OF DYSFUNCTIONAL BARBIES!:

1. Must like the taste of rum A LOT and must be able to pack alcohol like a fratman.

2. Must be a smoker. Marlboro reds being the choice of cancer, preferrably.

3. Must be able to aptly incorporate ‘Sheryl Cruz’ into a or any conversation.

4. Must uphold the sanctity that is Sunday Afternoon Tsismis.

5. Must uphold the sanctity that is Sunday Rumcola Supreme.

6. Must be able to make a mean pasta out of the following ingredients: pasta noodles, ground beef/chicken chunks/corned beef, and soy sauce.

7. Must be capable of completing a whole crossword puzzle or a whole Sudoku puzzle. Added bonus if capable of completing a whole crossword puzzle book or a whole Sudoku book.

8. Must have a history of clinical depression (to highlight the fact that I’ve never been clinically-depressed, therefore, I am normal) and drug abuse.

9. Must not be younger than 21.

Hurry and apply now, the weekend’s coming up and I’ve got lots of money to blow on booze, yay!

(Okay, not true. The rent plus the usual end-of-month deductions ated my salary. I’m most likely to live on piso packs of Boy Bawang until the next pay day. And I don’t even like Boy Bawang. Mommy? :()