Pothead's two year long basking fixation finally ended (or so she claims). I don't know which one of us is having the worse year, but one thing's for sure, our random lottery of bad events and series of near escapes are definitely competing for peaks.
Here’s a bulleted relay:
• The first half of '05 is finally over, that was some lecture on melancholy101 plus some units on suffrage and disorientation we've gone through (there are instances when the comfort of the cliché “everybody hurts” no longer works, during this era it didn't even exist). Well up until now Pothead is still having her pathological July beating and I’m also being given some walloping every now and then. The latter half's still not cutting any slack for both of us; I’m starting to want to seek the advice of feng shui experts on rooster deliverance.
• Being a bum is never a norm, but apparently our business idea is still left unsupported. There’s nothing wrong with selling diapers, but nobody seems to foresee the dynasty that we are capable of building through mass producing poopy handlers (or maybe it was wrong to have seen that Kutcher flick in the first place, it kinda prolonged Pothead's dwelling in the dark side and instigated this compulsion to make money from baby outputs).
• We still have our food trip plan and our walk trip plan kept as plans. The lack of heroic flashcards really hinders one's fantasies. Last night, I went through one of my most pitiful experiences ever. I got the all time condemned monthly visit from my blood bank and didn't have any emergency nappies with me. On my way home, I stopped by 7eleven to buy some support tools and realized that I wouldn't be able to go home if I buy a pack of one decent brand. I was almost succumbing to buy the poor gelai's nappies (a.k.a. "Those Days") but I saw this other brand, that was probably invented by nuns, it's called Sister's, and some bit of morale was left in me (the nun thought also made me feel holy, maybe through bleeding some of my sins would actually gush away). If only that moronic guy at the counter didn't expose what I was purchasing to the entire world, my night would've ended up quite acceptably.
• Pothead's parents are now harassing her about finding a job; she's unbelievably considering the call center industry calling (I still doubt practicality winning over her HUMONGOUS pride though). I am, unfortunately, a call girl now and after nine days of work, my mom's already asking for the ROI ("Inay, hindi lahat ng tao sumusweldo tuwing kinsenas!!! @#!^&$@"). I haven't even told her that I’m working in a call center. REASON: She wants me to work in one. She once told me that I’m the biggest disappointment in her life. I want to live up to that expectation.
• Two disquieting diseases were realized through the diagnosis of Pothead’s behavioral anomalies. One is the Gepetto Syndrome and the other is the Hala Kari Syndrome. The first is described by the unexplainable attraction felt toward those in the 18 – below age bracket. The despicable drive to manipulate the youth reflects the need of the disease carrier to become a master puppeteer, hence, the name “Gepetto”. I remember this instance when we were going to McDonald’s, Malabon, there’s this high schooler who passed by us and Pothead gave out a moan of some sort followed by a quivery voice, “Ang ganda nung bata…” Scary? It gets worse. We were now eating – no, I was eating, she was poor -- apparently, classes have ended, and the high schoolers flooded the fast food place. Pothead got totally busy checking out the community of people, who haven’t even reached maximum puberty, and spotted one amongst the crowd. “Ayun o, ang ganda ng katawan, pwede na…” The Hala Kari Syndrome is depicted by the ill desire to fight lopsided battles or losing ones. It induces the “I’ll wait for you forever” mind set. It clogs the carrier’s philosophies and principles, and even make the carrier have an unamountable appetite for her pride, leading to the development of voluptuous frontals and a monstrous behind (physical effects may vary, on Pothead, they are very much visible).
Þ There’s this text anecdote that I got from Trent some few years ago, it goes like: Once there was a cat and a rooster crossing a log bridge. The cat went first and fell off to the water. The rooster looked at the drenched cat and guffawed his heart out. MORAL OF THE STORY: For every wet pussy, there’s always a happy cock (double standard… I know). POINT OF THE STORY: somebody needs to get laid.
Disclaimer:
Ran out of topics to write about. I’ve been the usual observant that I am and I’ve been having just a bit too much threshold of observations that I don't know how to begin putting any of them into words. I guess, being a corporate whore really leads you down the road to dumbnation.
