The brakes are broken

Some of my friends that I think too highly of myself, in local slang, “nagkarga ng sariling bangko.” Perhaps I could curb thinking “I’m fucking awesome” all the time and feel pity for myself. That’s too easy, no? I mean, I’m in my late 20’s, with a kid to support and not enough money to support her with, still living on my dad’s dime, almost my entire family is in another continent, this isn’t what I wanted to do with my life, and I’m single. And before you argue that last part, a lawyer once said, “Unless you’re actually married, you’re still single.”

A lot more nights like these.

 I put myself down a lot. Like, A LOT. Even when I’ve done well at work, I think that it’s only because I’ve fucked things up for so long that it was bound to get better. When I get praise from other people I immediately think that they’ve felt the opposite about me until that point in time. “You did a really great job with this report! Coz, you know, you fucking things up a lot around here.” “That’s a really nice haircut you got! Because it usually looks like a dirty mop.” “Thanks for the great advice! I mean, not that I’m going to take it because let’s face it, what do you *really* know about succeeding in life?”

I’ve come to accept my ugly cry face.

And as much as I love throwing pity parties, I also tend to careen towards the opposite end of the spectrum and become a self-entitled dick. If I’ve asked you to do something for me, you better do it right and the way I want to do it. Because doing it any other way is just a waste of MY time and just insulting since I know that my way is the only right way to do it. And this not only applies to work. Oh, no. You have a bad sense of direction? Get better at it. I don’t care how but I expect you to be able to fully navigate yourself around your neighborhood in at least a year. A YEAR. If it takes longer than that then I will think you’re either royally retarded or just trying to piss me off. And you say you’re your father’s fastest sperm?

I’d tell you to get lost but that’d be redundant.

Or the fact that if you know your kitchen is starting to smell bad (because of the garbage can, unwashed dishes, etc.), then you should, as any normal person would do, close the door (provided you have one) so the stink won’t reek into the other parts of the house. Simple, right? So if you don’t close that damn door and the living room is starting to smell like rotten meat, then you’re fucking stupid. I mean, that’s my take on it anyway.

Or if you haven’t seen someone in a while and you don’t call because there’s been a mutual understanding that you’re both going to be very busy that week, so you try to busy yourself on a day that you’re actually not, then that person texts about making plans and you call and discuss and leave it at, “Yeah, sure. Just call me and we’ll see.” Naturally, you assume that this person who’s made first contact has desires intentions of seeing you. And so you call him (or her, whatever) and find out if plans are pushing through. Then s/he doesn’t pick up after, oh I don’t know ELEVEN MISSED CALLS. Clearly, plans with you are not that important. So what? You admit to yourself, yeah, it’s not that important. I’m not that important.

And so you stew because you mistakenly thought you were important and found out that you weren’t and then it pisses you off that you’ve belittled yourself and then get mad at the fact that this is so petty that it shouldn’t matter and then speed up into Insanity Highway where you just keep ranting and venting until you start throwing things at walls. Then add a dash of follow up texts that indicate if you still want plans to push through, you will have to share it with a friend. And the fact that there’s someone else just ticks you off all the more because WHAT THE FUCK? This wasn’t where this was going earlier. And maybe if you weren’t so mad it would have gone better, but who the fuck is he to tell me to calm the fuck down? This was important to me and not important to you. How can we not be on the same page about this??

This, folks, is why you shouldn’t be with someone who doesn’t share the same sentiments as you.

I mean, today it just might be about dinner plans but who knows? Maybe tomorrow it’ll be about how to spend the weekend. Or how to spend money. Or what things are worth investing in. Or how to raise a kid. Or where to live. Or all those other grown up things people are supposed to think seriously about. What then? WHAT THEN?

And people will say, “Cross the bridge when you get there.” But what if I reach that bridge 5 years from now? 10 years from now? Will that be enough time for people to come to an understanding? And what if we still don’t see eye to eye when we get to that bridge? Do we just shake hands and go our separate ways? I’ll be fucking 40 by then. FORTY!!! WHAT DO I DO THEN?!

Fuck you if you think my life is dependent on another person. But the thought of investing all this time and energy just so I can waste 10 years and have nothing to show for it in the end is a really fucked up thing to do. No one wants to preempt the future but FUCKING HELL. WHAT. THE FUCK. DO I DO THEN??

You’ll have to excuse me for a little bit. I think I may have written myself into a panic attack.

‘Sup?

I’ve been ‘away’ for months, I know, but that’s what happens when things change. Don’t worry though. Things haven’t changed for the very best or the very worst. Sakto lang.

Fuck bitches…
Relationship-wise, The Boyfriend and I are doing well. We (ie. me) still have the occasional screaming match every 20 something days or so but he’s trying to get a handle on things (ie. his sanity). It was touch and go there for a bit when he went back home for Holy Week and came back to find himself almost without a job as LatAk Client can get PMS-y as well.

Scene: Inside Mah HoMY, late for work, on the phone.

Me: OMG I’m so late for work fuck fuck fuck fuck FUUUUUUUCK!!!

The BF: It’s fine, you can be  late a little bit.

Me: No! NO! This is all YOUR FAULT!

The BF: My fault?? How is a traffic jam MY fault?

Me: I don’t know! IT JUST IS!!

The BF: Okaaay ..

Me: (more profanity) That’s it! Maybe we should just break up then!

The BF: What?? We’re breaking up because you’re stuck in traffic?

Me: YES!!!

The BF: Okay. I think this is the point where I tell you that we’re going to talk again when you’re not like this and you’re thinking clearly.

Me: NO! YOU *WILL* KEEP TALKING TO ME!!! *starts crying, throwing shit in the car, denting dashboard, deforming steering wheel*

The BF: (internally) WHAT. THE. FUCK??

Other than this ^^ occasional scene, we do fine. The Boyfriend is STILL trying to get used to the night shift. He’s been at it for a couple of months and it’s still a trying time. We try to do the usual workaround when I’m on day shift: I wake up at 6, so does he, he makes me coffee, I get ready, spend 5 minutes with him, high-five, and I’m out the door. I come back from work, wake *him* up, make him coffee, he gets ready, we spend 5 minutes, high-five, and he’s out the door. Romantic, I know.

...get money.
I’m clocking in three months at the new job (#YeMA for all my Twitter (twitter.com/uneditedmara) followers out there) that has a STRICT punctuality policy (that I’ve been able to somewhat adhere to). Thank you, thank you. Hold the applause, please. Other than my occassional tardiness, things have been going well. I’m slowly adjusting to new people and new operations and haven’t fucked up too much for anyone to notice. Yet.

This week, a big boss from the US is coming to visit and hear about the first and second quarter operations. We’re shitting bricks as we speak. It’s a big deal for the Manila Studio but I’d like to think it’s not because when I do, that usually gets the best of me and I start to feel faint and throw-uppy.

GPOY
(When I haven’t shaved in a few days)

Over the weekend, I’ve had to try to switch from night shift to day shift mode and IT. IS. KILLING. ME. I have to take a handful of vitamins for fear of just dying in the middle of the Studio and being hauled into the garbage chute. I’m disposable so I need to get my guard up. I also had to do a little sum’in sum’in on the sideline for a friend, so it’s kinda stepped on the toes of readjusting my body clock. But money’s money so I can’t complain much.

Life or something like it
Now that I’m going back to normal working people hours, I expect to see a lot less of The Boyfriend and a lot more of my friends. I have to go back to #QuizNight and show my face, my intelligence not so much. Also, attend to other things such as ENROLING THE IZ, which I still haven’t done. #PHOTOFINISHER Speaking of The Iz, she’s away on a 2-week vacation at the province. I figured she should at least know what dirt looked like. She’ll be back in time for the first day of classes and I assume things will go back to (next to) normal status.

But as for me, I stink like a bag of dead turtles so I gotta go shower now. So … smell ya later?

PS. I’ve missed you, guys.

#parangwalangboyfriend

I guess it’s back to LOWERED EXPECTATIONS.

I should just think that I have a really good friend who likes spending time with me and going to places and doing things and meeting my family and spending time with The Iz. A really good friend who’s not attracted to me and has no obligation whatsoever to sleep with me, keeping everything nice, friendly, and platonic. Okay, fine. A really good friend that I make out with from time to time, who I cook for, and clean his house for, and be there for him whenever I can but I can’t expect anything in return. I can hope, but I can’t expect.

I can’t complain that he’s emotionally unavailable or that he’s insensitive or that he tends to become self-involved. I can’t say anything because he’s got an ace up his sleeve — he moved here. Everything else I do, try to do, say, ask of is trumped because of that one major fact that just looms over our heads. Or at least mine.

So now what do I do? What do I say when I feel that he’s less than what I expected him to be? That he falls short of emotional support that only boyfriends can give? That he makes me feel like an after thought when he’s my priority? That I don’t feel he sees me as a girlfriend either but a really good friend? Perhaps I can’t call him a bad boyfriend because that would be generalizing the whole matter. He’s just a boyfriend in title. He has neither earned that boyfriend status that’s more than just being introduced as such but felt when he fills a void that no one else can. After everything we’ve been through, it still feels like two years ago – that we’re very good friends.

I suppose I can’t complain. He must think I’m a terrible girlfriend as well – dumping him with my problems, letting him see how neurotic it gets inside my head, constantly telling him how to handle me – and I guess that just evens out the equation. I’m trying to work on my jealousy and pride. I know those areas in my life need major renovation. But I hope he does see results.

Contrary to what The Boyfriend thinks, being a good boyfriend, or more aptly, PARTNER, is not always about having hoards of other partners before. Being a good partner involves learning and adjusting. Harder part is, he says he’s a slow learner.

So how long do I have to wait? After almost three years, a sacrificed relationship, thousands of dollars and euros spent, unbearable waits, how long do I still have before I actually get A BOYFRIEND? It’s going to be a while, isn’t it? It’s going to be a long while.

**

Abused patience turns to fury.

If love is conditional, here’s my list

I won’t mind you not having abs just as long as you are full of passion for life and love for me. I won’t mind you not having biceps just as long as you’ll hold me when I’m not at my very best. I won’t mind you not having toned thighs just as long as you stand up for me once in a while. I won’t mind if your English is imperfect just as long as you tell me things will be alright. I won’t mind your rough and calloused hands just as long as they hold mine when they shake.

I won’t mind any of that if you just love me with everything that you’ve got.

Mother G in the hizzle

[PROLOGUE aka The part where I freak out about meeting The Boyfriend's mother]

The plan was to drop off the ladies at their hotel to freshen up before going about the city. Since their flight arrived too early, they had to wait for a couple more hours til their room was ready. We drove couple of blocks down to The Boyfriend’s apartment and gave Mother G and her friend (Amiga) the grand tour. The Boyfriend and I were scrambling to get the place as clean as we could and, a day before Mother G arrived, The Boyfriend managed to find and hire a couple of people to thoroughly clean every inch of that linty apartment. This is the living room (giant couch, missing entertainment center) .. the bedroom with a good view but bad walls and carpeting .. the tiny, tiny kitchen .. want a drink? We have water, soda, and beer.
After, we had a lovely brunch at Apartment 1B, devouring my bagel and cream cheese as ladylike as I possibly could. The Spaniards carried on talking and I did my best impression of not looking bored. I had to seem as if this was a perfectly normal situation to be in. I smiled and feigned little interest in the conversation. We walked across the café to the Salcedo Saturday Market and had a post-brunch stroll through fish, flowers, lechon, kakanin, and sausages. Mother G and Amiga pointed to some things, The Boyfriend would turn to me, I’d tell him what it was, and he’d translate. This would be the protocol to conversing with the ladies all throughout their stay. The best I could do was smile politely and try to be funny and hope to God it wasn’t lost in translation.

After everyone got a chance to freshen up and rest up a bit, we drove towards the American Memorial at The Fort and walked around with a delicious breeze whipping about us. A walk amongst the dead left us feeling peck-ish so we scooted on over to Serendra for a yummy lunch at Sentro. Sentro’s always a good choice of Filipino restaurant and they’ve always had good service. On the table: Catfish Adobo Flakes, Rated GG (Galunggong), green mango salad, and Sweet & Sour Shrimp. After lunch, the ladies saw a little bit of Bonifacio High Street.
After the afternoon at Fort Bonifacio, I was SPENT. I didn’t know how much toll it would take on me but I was SO not prepared to have dinner that night. I needed to regroup. I begged off dinner and promised to join them next time.

I went home to TV and chocolate. After the day I had, I SO deserved it.

Mother, may I?

Meeting the parents is always a nerve-wracking thing. There are all sorts of expectations from both sides and just an overall feeling of FAINT. The first time I had to introduce a boyfriend to my parent (The Lolo) was out of necessity; I was carrying his unborn child and my parents needed to know. The second time I got the chance to introduce someone to my parents, I did it more casually and just threw him into the lion’s den. I was more worried how I’d behave leading up to the great introduction that I just leap off the cliff without thinking. If he was a worth enough guy, I thought, he’d survive the wrecking balls that are my parents.

This time around, it was my turn to face the firing squad. The Boyfriend’s mother was coming over to visit her youngest son and I was to make an appearance. I would not have fretted so much had The Boyfriend not started telling me HOW to dress and BE APPROPRIATE. Ohshitohshitohshit. Mother G was on the conservative side and The Boyfriend gave a few “gentle” reminders that my chosen wardrobe should not reflect a woman without breeding. WHERE ARE MY BLOUSES AND PANTSUITS?? And just to make things even more difficult, Mother G didn’t speak English.

Not actually Mother G. Just a visual representation of her instilling pee-my-pants fear in me.

I was a giant ball of terrified days leading up to Mother G’s arrival. Is she going to like me? Is my hair too long? Does it make me look like an incestuous Mormon? Do my clothes look poor? Is my skin too dark? Will my voice irritate her? Will my laugh deafen her? Does my swagger say ‘fuck off’ or ‘independent woman’? Will she say unkind words about me? About how I carry myself? About my country? How will I talk to her? In terrible broken Spanish? With sign language? With body language? Will she scan me from head to toe and declare that I am not worthy of her precious son? Will she bring her own dogs who will tear me to pieces at her command? *breathes rapidly into a brown paper bag*

The day finally arrived. The Boyfriend and I drove to the airport to pick up Mother G and her friend. I can’t even remember what I wore that day. I was just panicked that we already late. We had finally found them at the airport and loaded baggage into the car. I double beso’d and hola’d. Piling into the car, The Boyfriend, Mother G, and her friend animatedly starting speaking in Spanish, presumably about the trip, the weather, and how everyone back home was doing. Little did I know, it was going to be like this for THREE DAYS.

[To be continued...]

A Brief History In Time

Two years ago I fell in love with a man who left me. Two years later, after much denial and repression and tears, The Spaniard quit his job, packed his things, and moved halfway around the world for me; after much anger and bitterness and overthinking, I broke up with The Viking to start anew with The Spaniard. We’re finally ready to take the chance we didn’t give ourselves two years ago.

As The Spaniard and I counted to zero, we both knew that it would be a life-changing number. But we were willing to go all in on something that felt right for the both of us. The Spaniard’s first month here (and also, first month of assuming The Boyfriend role) has been not without much drama (we love drama) and good times (we love this even more). The first week in, we already hit the ground running – finding an apartment for him, receiving packages with a lot of red tape (politically, not packaging-wise), having fights, making up, meeting friends, going to Quiz Nights – basically adjusting to the life we want to share with each other.

Honestly speaking, it has not been the fairytale that all my girl friends envisioned it to be. Of course we’ve had our cute moments and exaggerated grins of happiness but we’ve also ventured down the other side of the spectrum a bit more than expected. They say I should just enjoy the moment and remember how it was two years ago and how it was easy and fun and exciting. They forget that there is a huge difference from now and two years ago. They forget that two years ago, The Spaniard and I didn’t look at each other and say, “Hey, I like you and you like me. A LOT. So we should be together and be a couple and work things out.” Two years ago, The Spaniard said, “Let’s just enjoy and make each other the happiest we can in the time we have together.” And I didn’t protest for fear of being the girl who was stupid enough to ask for something more when she signed up for something less.

There was less (or no) pressure then. I wasn’t his girlfriend (since he’s never introduced me as such) and he wasn’t my boyfriend (as I didn’t assume him to be). I could do whatever I wanted to do for him, but couldn’t expect him to do the same in return. I didn’t expect him to coddle me during the bad days of PMS or fully confide the details of how craptacular my day was or spend time with me and The Iz or see how insane it can get inside my head. And I had conditioned myself to not want for the privileges girlfriends had like being jealous or demanding more time together or being exclusive with each other.

But now, it’s changed.

It’s no longer just about the labels, but the commitment that comes with it. I can no longer walk out and say, “I don’t care. He can do whatever the hell he wants with his life.” I could, but I don’t want to. Because I *do* care and though it may be his life, I KNOW that I am now part of it. And to question his commitment to us is only to realize he’s heads above the crowd, shades paler than the rest, and is not quite comfortable with the island humidity. He’s already left everything that was convenient for a chance at us. How can one question that?

The Big Bang that had started two years ago (expanded from an extremely hot and dense state) has now cooled and continued to expand into this universe that holds Nemeses and all their life force on a speck of a rock called here and in a forgettable time called now.

The rains have come

NOT APPLICABLE

Forget summer. Forget that fling. Forget all those glorious feelings of sunshine on your face and green grass between your toes. Forget pretty cream dresses with frills and tea parties in the backyard. Forget beaches, sun-kissed girls, and a cold beer in your hand. Forget all of that. SUMMER IS GONE.

COMO ESTAN, B’CHEZZZ?

It’s now replaced with intermittent showers that suddenly create an ocean on the highway or soak you from one city but try to dry you out with extreme heat in the next. The winds come howling late at night, keeping those who are paranoid up all night, vigilant at the next sign of an impending Milenyo or Ondoy, and others just because it’s just so damn loud, rattling roofs, gates, windows, and our grandparents’ teeth. Not only is the heat unbearable, the humidity rising up from the earth is just a page out of Dante’s novel.

As a born and bred Filipino, I am used to this weather by now. I still get a little anxious at the sight of dark skies, insanely strong winds, and sudden downpours, but who isn’t? Yet I can only handle one calamity at a time.

Because it sucks major donkey balls when you have to handle it ALL at the same time – the rains, the winds, the heat, the power outages, the traffic.  It’s tiring to have to factor all of those in your day and you’re not even sure if you’re getting a correct reading of the weather. It’s just so fucking tiring. AND FRUSTRATING. You just want to yell in its face and say, “JUST STOP WHINING LIKE A FUCKING CHILD ALREADY!”

Ay.

Why Bad Guys Will Always Get the Babes

Re: Why Bad Guys Will Always Get the Babes

May 27, 2008 by civilservant

Johnny Depp as Capt. Jack Sparrow from the “Curse of the Black Pearl”. “The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what he can’t.” Saavy?

While I was down with bronchitis, I was on a lot of drugs so I had time to ponder deeply on the great unanswered question of our time: why are women attracted to bad guys? To be honest, this kind of question is never asked by women–we know why the baddies are so attractive. It is almost always a fanboy who posts a whiney inquiry to the effect that “I’m swell, but can’t get a date because the chicks dig the bad boys. Whyizzat?” An honest answer–”chicks avoid you because you’re an obnoxious, complaining loser”–is never appreciated so in hopes that men everywhere may be enlightened, I present the following list of reasons of why women love villains.

1.) Villains have a personality. The charismatic baddie who does wicked deeds yet leaves ladies swooning in his wake is almost always a larger-than-life character with a strong sense of self. Compared to him, our white-hatted hero is bland, bland, bland. Villains don’t spend time trying to find themselves. They know who they are–evil. That kind of self-confidence is more of an aphrodiasiac than power and money.

Alan Rickman as the Sheriff of Nottingham in “Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves” . “Cancel the kitchen scraps for the lepers and the orphans, no more merciful beheadings, and call off Christmas.”

2.) Villains have high aspirations and pursue them. True, those aspirations usually involve ultimate power and world domination, but it beats eating cold pizza and watching football on the telly, night after night. Villains know what they want out of life–everything–and they pursue those dreams with vigor.

Jason Isaacs as Col. Tavington in “The Patriot.” “You know, it’s ugly business doing one’s duty… but just occasionally it’s a real pleasure.”

3.) Villains don’t let impossible odds stop them from obtaining their goals. Bad guys don’t whine about the fact that their brother got the crown instead of them and they don’t sing songs about impossible dreams. They plot, suborn, and wade through rivers of blood until they’ve won the throne for themselves. The odds, as every villain knows, are always possible–if you make enough of an effort.

Christopher Lee as Dracula demonstrating the crucial vampire skills of a) always dressing up smartly for those noctural feedings and b) never dropping your woman while she’s swooning.

4.) Villains let their feelings for their women be known. Black-caped, mustachio-twirling bad guys get places with the babes because they’re not afraid to risk rejection. Vampires take a chance every time they show up at some nubile female’s bedroom window. Is she going to invite him in or is she going to stake him? If you want the breaks, you gotta risk the stakes.

[Upon seeing Bugs Bunny dressed as female Tasmanian devil] “Tasmanian SHE-Devil. “[Wolf whistle.] [Aside to the audience]: “Rrrrowr.”–”Devil May Hare”

5.) Villains make their women feel special. Sure, Snidely Whiplash can–and probably has–tied plenty of maidens to the railroad tracks in his time, but it’s Pretty Nell he wants now and no one else will do. The object of a villain’s affection is never interchangeable with other women. Villains always treat their heroines as if they are one of a kind–which they are.

Geoffrey Rush as Casanova Frankenstein from “Mystery Men”. “I have created a beautiful machine that is going to encourage our fellow citizens to share my vision of the world”.

6.) Villains want to share their good fortune with the women in their lives. Be it treasure, power, or virtual immortality, villains know that good things in life are meant to be shared and who better to share those good things with than that special woman? Fear of commitment is not part of a villain’s psychological makeup. Sure, your average bloody-handed tyrant might go mad and see ghosts, but no tyrant has ever told his queen that he needs to break up with her because he needs his space.

So, lads, there it is, your very own six-step plan to world domination and a harem of your own. Oh, and buy some black clothes. It can’t hurt.

++

Taken from civilservant

Redpoint

My Best,

It’s been a while since we’ve actually sat down and talked. I feel like I’m missing out on your life and all the help I could have been. But I suppose this is The Universe’s way of telling us that we both have to grow together, albeit separately.

Boys are stupid, don’t you think so?

Sometimes I fear that you are getting by without me and without the need for me. Like I said, it’s been a while and time has a way of changing things. But I choose to believe that we are still essential in each other’s lives, if only for the fact that one knows they are loved by the other. I consider it an honor still that you come to me and share your secrets and turmoils. Even if I can’t be there with you on good days, I want to be there for you on bad ones. But I think more than that, what you have to realize is to be there for YOURSELF.

I cannot be a hypocrite and tell you to forget about anyone else when there’s a particular someone who’s left such an impression on your life and then promptly left. Perhaps we may never be able to fully forget them, for if anything, their energy was simply drawn to yours. But once they leave, move on, are no longer a part of your daily existence, you have to be brave and realize that the moments you had will now become mere memories. That, sometimes, they leave for a reason that is greater than the reason to stay.

Like I said, boys are stupid.

Use your brain to take care of your heart. Do not settle for someone who is just content with missing you whilst you are consumed with thoughts of being with them. Remember, they are missing you because they choose not to be with you. That’s it. There’s no use in torturing yourself with the what ifs and maybes. Those little mental demons are enough to stagnate your own growth and suppress healthy emotions. Do not let this get the better of you.

You are strong and healthy and highly independent. You’ve moved to a whole ‘nuther country and have LIVED. No one has the right to make you feel bad ABOUT ANYTHING. We give others the power to make us feel happy, but ultimately, we need to remember how to make ourselves feel happy. So go out and climb and wander and sing and laugh and have great adventures. Do things for yourself and no one else. Focus on all that passion that you have towards something that makes you happy and fulfilled.

Life is too short. You shouldn’t have to consider someone who isn’t considering you. There are still so many people left to meet and perhaps a few that you’ll really get to know and maybe a couple more that may break your heart. Know which kinds you want to keep and which ones you need to say, “Fuck off.” The latter is the most important since I know it’s not in your nature to say “no” as you’re always nice and well-meaning. If you don’t tell the world who you are, the world will do it for you. Don’t give them the chance to talk shit. YOU ARE THE MOTHERFUCKING BOSS. Got that? Don’t let anyone tell you any different.

Chill the fuck out. I got this.

Times are tough, my Best, that’s why we must be tougher. We’ve gotten calloused from traversing the toughest of climbs and we might have complained from the muscles strains to the point we feel that we’re about to break, but we persevere. We persevere because the view from the top is FUCKING WORTH IT.

I’ll belay, you climb.

xx

M