NEWSFLASH.

January 5, 2007 at 8:26 am | Filed under bitchin' a ride, ditz drivel

Hey kids. I resigned yesterday and I’ll be using up my remaining leave credits in such a way that the next time I have to deal with these tediously stupid Caucasians and African-Americans (no offense meant, we all know how much I love Taylor Hanson and Warrick Brown. And Melanie B. It’s just that when you’re tired and hungry and some fuck up calls in and wastes your time by hanging up as soon as you ask for their credit card information— it tries my patience) will be on the 19th. My last day with this godforsaken company.

That means I don’t know when I’ll be on-line next.

Tell me: what great sin have I committed to deserve two mentally-retarded probably-a-year-or-two-older-than-me girls singing Barny’s I Love You You Love Me song a few feet behind me?

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PEACHY KEEN, EH.

December 21, 2006 at 11:32 pm | Filed under a waste of human capital, bitchin' a ride

It’s a fact that I hate to admit, but in Katipunan, tricycle drivers are kings. Those shitheads own not just the roads, but a huge chunk of your everyday Katipunan existence as well. And on days like today, I wish I were God (like, truly truly God) armed with an AK-47 and the legal right to open fire and headshot their sneering smirking heads to bits.

Today, I left the apartment at half past two in the afternoon with 21 Christmas cards in my bag. I took a jeep to get to the UP Post Office. Now UP is only SUPPOSED to be ten minutes away from Katipunan, but no thanks to the traffic, my plans of sending out those cards were foiled. The post office closes at 3. It doesn’t help that I haven’t been to the Diliman campus in MONTHS— I had this wild look in my eyes that screamed “I DON’T BELONG HERE!” and I just had to leave my cigarettes at home. I could be naked and fat in the middle of EDSA during rush hour, but hand me a lit cigarette and I can fucking strut the highway and make naked and fat look cool. Or the new black.

So anyway. I passed by Shoppersville to get some boxes and wrappers because ’tis the season for that. After dilly-dallying for half an hour, I leave the place and approach a parked tricycle. I give the driver my street name and my exact compound, he pauses and then asks how much I normally pay. 12 pesos, I say. Asshat starts reasoning out and for the nth time that day, I wish I had my cigarettes with me so I could’ve blown smoke into his face before I walked away. This cretin (a tricycle driver, too) who was sitting on the sidewalk next to his tricycle scoffed at my back: “12 pesos? For a pedicab, maybe!” Fucking idiot. You’re a trike driver, I live on lower, not upper Abada. KNOW THE FARE DIFFERENCE.

So off I walk to the tricycle terminal outside the dorm where I used to live. I stopped by the bank, drew out some cash, and as I walked past Rustan’s (the grocery), I hear someone calling my name. Not just one “Helga!” but many many Helgas. “Helga! Helga! HELGA!”

I turn my head and what do I see? A group of tricycle drivers sitting on a concrete stump with silly smiles pasted on their grimy city-tanned faces. My mind seriously froze. Like. Seriously. Froze. I was holding my phone because I had a message from Chuchubells and the words were a blur and for a few seconds, it was like my brain had forgotten how to string letters and words together. I approached a waiting trike, stared at the driver (who stared back) before I was able to go “Abada. *pause* Family Montessori. *pause*” And then I realized I actually had to get in, to get home.

I texted Chuchubells about the incident and he said that’s what I get for always walking along and around Katipunan. IT’S NOT LIKE I DO SO WEARING A FUCKING NAME TAG!

“Maybe I should change my name”, I told Allah when I got home. So from now on, my Katipunan screen name is MARY-KATE, okay? In front of tricycle drivers and tambays, I am NOT Helga; I am Mary-Kate.

Also, I’d just like to point out how much I hate office gossip. D texted me last Tuesday night, out of the blue, to say that he’s disappointed that he’s heard I’ve been talking trash about him. I replied with a “Don’t talk about you. Don’t even THINK about you.”

So last night, I was drunk, pissed off at Chuchubells, had downed three Vis, and had the brilliant idea to bitch at D. Don’t ask me what happened because my memory’s a bit fuzzy. Why are the Alabang people even talking about me, damn it.

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SICKYWICKY!!!

November 24, 2006 at 11:40 am | Filed under bitchin' a ride, technicolor lover

I’ve been in and out two hospitals this week alone. My diagnosis? AIDS and VD. Deadly combination. Folks, it’s terminal.

All right, so that isn’t funny at all. Truth be told, I have a bacterial blood infection, a bad case of UTI (which caused the blood infection and causes my on-and-off fever and chills), and lumbar strain. Now I’m stuck in the hills of Antipolo for the time being, under the not-so-watchful eyes of my parents (who insist on a rice bran and fruit diet), and DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY DAYS OF WORK I’VE SKIPPED??? I’m bound to get, what, ten bucks on my next paycheck. No kidding.

And mehn, I’m all What-The-Fuck-ed Out. The first time I remember (cos mom says I used to come down with it all the time when I was a kid) getting UTI was at the nubile age of nineteen because I was banging this band’s drummer. Pissing razors, no fever, laid off the alcohol for a week, got better. The second time, my chud of an ex gave it to me. Again: pissing razors, no fever, could NOT lay off the alcohol so chugged down coconut juice and doubled my water intake, got better.

This third time? NO pissing razors. Fever. Chills. An actual, no, TWO actual trips to two different hospitals. IS IT BECAUSE I’M 21 AND NO LONGER ALLOWED TO BE YOUNG AND STUPID?

Rawr. Seriously, yesterday, I looked like some kid her mom literally dragged to the hospital. Board shorts, an old vintage tee (with little ipis holes!), flipflops, no make-up, and a messy ponytail. Ten minutes before leaving the house, I was curled up in bed going “Don’t wanna don’t wanna don’t wannaaaaaaaa! You can’t make meeeeee!” until mom got mad. LAWLZ.

Armed with my natural good looks and my good english skillz, I managed to face the bustling city looking like that. Over lunch, wearing that plastic patient bracelet and a cotton ball stuck to my inner elbow fold with hospital tape, I asked my mom: Wouldn’t it be awesome if I started coughing on people’s food?

Mom just laughed, yay, we’re friends again. We, like, totally bonded over Max’s chicken and kare-kare, and both agreed that my idiot of a cousin, Kiko, deserves death by horse-bukkake.

My meds set me back by a grand, and I feel guilty referring to the new boytoy as…well, ‘new boytoy’. So from now on, he is Chuchubells on here, okay?

Chuchubells was the one who convinced and brought me to the hospital four days ago. Ain’t that sweet. It don’t matter if he ain’t cute like D is, yo, he’s super nice, filthy rich, hooks me up with my needed social drugs, and drinks more than I do.

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LET’S FUCK UP OUR HIRING PROCESS!

October 22, 2006 at 9:10 pm | Filed under a waste of human capital, bitchin' a ride

Here’s a story.

A girl, let’s call her Helga, decided some weeks ago to leave the company in which she is currently employed at, in search of a better bigger paycheck. Her friend, let’s call him Drew, referred her and anoher friend (let’s call her Allah) to the company he works for. Let’s call this company Company S.U.WTF. (S for suxxorz, U for Unprofessional, and WTF for Whiskey Tango Foxtrot).

Now Company S.U.WTF. first called Allah, and to make a sad story short, she was not hired.

Company S.U.WTF. called in Helga for an initial interview with Recruiting, and was set up with a FINAL interview with one of the department heads. And then Company S.U.WTF. called up Helga while she was at the beach last weekend, scheduling ANOTHER FINAL interview with the same dude who interviewed her.

She shows up at Company S.U.WTF., was met by a confused man: Didn’t I interview you already?

Helga: Yes, but S—y called me up last Monday and set me up with a final interview?

Helga was told to sit in some teeny-weeny office (a cubicle, more like it) and waited for a lifetime (okay, so it was about 10 minutes, but when you’re doing nothing— just staring at photos and certificates, it does seem like a fucking lifetime. I was half expecting for my grandkids to call me up for a visit), and then was told he (Department Head Man) would see her in 10-15 minutes, and she could go down for a smoke if she wanted to. She does. She comes back, runs into Department Head Man as she steps out of the elevator.

Department Head Man apologizes, says the HR department will be contacting her to finalize her employment.

Helga: So I’m hired?

DHM: Yes.

So Helga was hired right outside the elevator lobby. Whoop-de-do! She goes home, and at 8am, the HR department of Company S.U.WTF. calls her up to schedule a 2pm contract signing.

Helga goes back to Company S.U.WTF., signs the contract, drafts her resignation letter, and celebrates by watching House on DVD while eating cracker crumbs and pancit canton. She would start working for Company S.U.WTF. on November 20.

Saturday night, she wakes up, checks her phone for messages and finds that someone with a Sun Cellular number texted her. So management decided to cancel hiring for the November 20 date and would resume hiring NEXT year, January. NEVERFUCKINGMIND that contracts have been signed, resignations announced, resignations drafted, moms and bosses and co-workers informed— Helga was fired even before she has started her training for Company S.U.WTF. Oh, and they’d call her next year.

Helga’s mom is asking for her copy of the contract, so Helga and Helga’s mom could consult a lawyer.

This song is so cool.

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WANAREXIA IDIOSA.

October 12, 2006 at 10:27 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, bitchin' a ride, ditz drivel

I would give anything for barbecued chicken and liempo right now. ANYTHING. Throw in a crackwhore’s body to replace my obese one, and I’d give EVERYTHING.

All I’ve been eating since yesterday are KFC salads and the occasional hot/funshot— can’t really go all out on a box. Carbs :hmph:. And MSG-ridden instant noodles (carbs, haha!).

I’m going all wanarexic again because the best friend and I are running away to Puerto Galera this Sunday until Tuesday (which I’ve filed a leave from work for). I’m quite in a situation, actually, but whatever. I don’t want to think about Branders right now. Because there’s a chance they might hire me and ask me to start this coming Monday. The interview yesterday went fairly well, and I have another one tomorrow. I haven’t even resigned yet!

So yeah. I look forward to being drunk and Valium-ed while working on my tan. I already accept the fact that I won’t look so hot in my bikinis— it’s my fault I’m 7 pounds over my ideal weight. I’m just horrified that I’m gonna look female body-builderesque. :cry:

I BETTER NOT GET MY PERIOD THIS WEEKEND.

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