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.

Violation of the Dress Code Policy

On October 10, I was recorded by the CCTV entering office premises wearing a skirt that was “more than two inches above the knee.” However, I would like to have it in writing that this incidents, and other previous incidents of Dress Code violation, disputable.

First of all, the CCTV catches employees on the move. Meaning to say, for women who wear skirts, walking simply makes ANY fabric ride up the leg and thus, at any point, be in violation of the 2-inch rule. If an event transpired that my skirt was measured against my leg whilst immobile, it can be seen that it is within the prescribed length.

Secondly, I understand that the Dress Code would like to address issues such as office outfit appropriateness and professionalism. I believe that none of my office clothes would suggest any impropriety. In fact, I pride myself in dressing well and within my station, not only to condition myself to behave as a supervisor, but to be someone my associates can look up to.

Thirdly, the image used in your New Dress Code Policy under Dress would show that the length of your “sample” skirt is just as long as the one in my CCTV screenshot. Your model just happens to be just standing around. I believe that it has also been discussed in having key points of entry and several monitors to address this issue and send violators home to change. However, no one had called my attention to the matter on the day I wore the skirt.

Fourthly, if vague cases for Dress Code inappropriateness carries on, I would like to request that employees’ length of skirt be measured at the lobby, WITH A RULER. Setting an exact measure also requires exact adherence from the employees and those that are tasked to impose the rules. Otherwise, any further DPFs on the matter would be hearsay, libelous, and detrimental to the performance and well-being of the employees.

To resolve the matter, I am very much willing to bring the alleged miniskirt and amenable to having it measured. I thank #YeMA for giving me the opportunity to hear my side of the matter.

#Hell is other people

Work hasn’t annoyed me as much as it has today. Let me just preface this rant by saying that I’m enjoying working for this company, fostering relationships, learning new things everyday, and just generally surrounding myself with people who love to balance work and play.

Okay, maybe not as happy as this. But y’know, just…steady.

 Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been pissed off at work so many times since joining the company, but it’s all part and parcel of the job description. You really have to deal with the shitty hours, egomaniacal big bosses, and people who pawn work off to you like you have nothing better to do than chase after them and clean up their mess. I take that all with a grain of salt.

I didn’t complain when US declared that they ‘accidentally’ deleted 500 websites, all having to be rebuilt from scratch. I didn’t complain when I found out that this ‘rebuilding’ was not to fall under Operations (my boss and consequently, my team’s) but under Product Support, an entirely different vertical, totally separate from ours. We just grit our teeth, did unscheduled and mandatory overtime, and forgot all about it.

More or less what it felt like.

I didn’t complain when they told us to prepare a long and extensive program for our Quality Assurance associates to go through in order for us to take back a process that was originally ours. To make it simple, for whatever reason, US told us to hold off on checking website grammar and spelling because they didn’t trust us enough with it. Fine, fine. You’re closer to our clients than we are so we trust your judgment. I mean, hell, English is your first language, right? So we went through hell trying to prove to them that we could take back the right to police spelling and grammatical errors. When we did start doing that, spelling and grammatical errors started skyrocketing like nobody’s business. 80% of those errors came from US copywriters. Once they got a wind of this, they immediately put a halt on Manila Operations checking on their work. Fucking assholes, right? Kicker: Stop policing our writing. But when our Final Inspect team finds something wrong with it, it will be Manila Studio’s error.

Squeeze me? Baking powder? Did I fucking hear you correctly? You tell us to stop finding faults in your work but if someone else other than us finds it, it’s our fault? OH HELL NAW. That should have been WWIII right there but whatever. This issue stemmed not from Manila Studio’s incompetence but their lack of quality control. They don’t want to make it my problem? So be it.

 

But you know what I want to complain about most? The people who are supposed to be in our own floor fucking shit up. That’s what pisses me off the most.

 

Did someone order an asshole?

One group needed people to do some testing. Sure, we’d gladly lend you a few of our people. I mean, to put them in mid-shift, apart from their co-workers, and at a dead hour of the day, but whatever. We want to do all we can to assist you (and the company) in finding ways to make the work better. It was agreed upon that from the moment my shift clocks out (5:30pm), my people would no longer be under my supervision but theirs. I mean, if they were conducting the training and taking half of the shift for that then by all means, supervise/facilitate your tiny little heart away. But when you don’t pass out clear instructions to people who are doing this VOLUNTARILY, and then when there’s communication gap, blame it on their supervisors, we’re going to have a big bagful of shitty problems, my friend. Sure, maybe once or twice my people will miss training prolly because of miscommunication, but didn’t it even ONCE occur to you that they haven’t come the rest of the week? Even saying that it’s not your job to babysit these people, but your US Boss is asking attendance from you everyday. So did you just tell him that you had complete attendance when in fact you were missing 4 people? STOP FUCKING LYING. And when the associate saw that you had marked all 4 of them present on days that they clearly were not, you just backtracked and said that the attendance had not been updated? FUCK. YOU. It doesn’t do well for you to keep fucking lying because I will introduce your face to my foot. You’re very lucky that my supervisor was there to facilitate the meeting because yours would have been broken and bloody by the time that it was over.

You call yourselves Process Engineers? Don’t lord it over us like you know everything because your process is SHIT. You hear that? I was there during the first day of testing and sufficed to say you all seemed like a bunch of clueless twats that just want to boss people around. We’re here to help you and you give us this shit? FUCK. YOU.

 

Oh, and not only are you shit at your job, you also do not deserve the praise that you get. When US Bosses commend you for a job well done, they’re not actually talking to you, you lazy dick. They’re talking about the tireless and dedicated obsessive-compulsive people who actually get shit done. All you can do is “loop” those people in the email? FUCK. YOU. You didn’t deserve any of that recognition. All belonged to other people whom you should rightly acknowledge when you send reports that you didn’t spend days and weeks poring over, driving you near insanity. You say, “S/he did this report.” You give credit to whom credit is due. But you know what? You’re lucky we don’t need to be praised to do a good job. Take all the glory for yourself because I know that the people who did the actual work don’t do it for the praise but to just actually do the job. Hoard all that away if it makes you happy. It’s no love loss for us because we know you didn’t do anything but forward emails and loop people in. Loop your fucking self.

And this fucking office had the BALLS, the SHEER BALLS to give me a sanction for DRESS CODE VIOLATION.

 

 

Table for 1

I get to the office at 2pm. Or 3. Or 4. Today, 5. And then work the usual 9-hour shift. As evidenced by the crazy time, I usually get off work past midnight.

I don’t usually get to have dinner with The Boyfriend or watch a movie in the mall. Not that it bothers me since The Boyfriend is trying to save up, so dinner and movies are done in-house. Since he’s still trying to find that elusive perfect job, he’s had a lot of free time in his hands. He gets to go hang out with friends when they’ve been freed from the bonds of work (at NORMAL HUMAN HOURS) and have dinner and go out to parties and drink.

So today, it miffed me when I asked to change up the routine a bit.

Me: Hey, wanna have dinner outside tonight?

Him: Er .. but we always dine out.

Me: WE don’t. YOU do.

So what’s the big deal? It’s just dinner, right? Who cares about dinner? It’s just another meal of the day. At least we have breakfast toge..ohwait. Well, lunch toge..ohwait. Dinn..nope. Drinks?

Yeah, drinks. I’ll toast to that.

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.

The Secret Life of Words

The Spaniard slipped and revealed the blog he’s been writing as a way to deal with the whole situation. It was supposed to be a secret and I wasn’t supposed to know about it. Now I do. And now he’s password protected all his entries.

Should I give a fuck? I have no right to demand anything from him. If he doesn’t want me reading the thing, fine.

Should I be pissed? Again, I have no right to be pissed.

What should I do? NOT GIVE A FUCK AS WELL.

Don’t waste time arguing with someone who’s determined to keep you out. What the fuck for?

PASSWORD PROTECT THIS, BITCH.

I’mma let you finish

When the whole situation collapsed on me, from Thirsty Thursday to present moments, there has been a range of fears and hesitations that incessantly hound you. Peace of mind hasn’t been easy to come by lately. I imagine murderers really have to have serious emotional/mental issues to carry out such horrid things because the mere fact of even CONSIDERING The Spaniard when I have a perfectly good Viking makes me feel like total and utter scum.

Through this whole ordeal, I have heard and thought of the worst about myself. I mean, when you cause that much grief to the people you love, how can you not? Don’t even get me started on the things that OTHER INCONSEQUENTIAL PEOPLE might have said or are saying or are thinking. There are days when I can tune them out. But then there are days when you are just drowning in a shitload of crap. People think to be in MY position is a dream come true. TWO GUYS? I mean, how can one not have an inflated ego with that scenario? I know that there might be women who would KILL to have my problems. *steps aside* Be my fucking guest.

One thing I have learned through the years is that PEOPLE TALK. And most of the time, when they talk about you, they are talking BULLSHIT. They will never know what it means to be in your position or to feel how you are feeling. What’s worse is when those people pretend to know what’s going on and casually toss a retarded motherfucking advice. (Can you feel the bile rising just a little now?) People can talk smack about me all they want. Hey, that’s what haters are there for – TO HATE ON YOU. The question is, are you going to let them get you down. HELL FUCKING NO.

I have no problems WHATSOEVER with people having their own opinion of me, especially with the current situation. Some say that I’m just messin’ with the guys and that I’m treating this as some game, some say that The Spaniard/The Viking should just forget about me since there are TONS of women out there FAR SUPERIOR (which, I concur with, btw), some say that I don’t really love The Viking/The Spaniard because I did this, some say that I am ungrateful, some say that I’m a bitch, some say that I’m selfish, and probably even more degrading adjectives than I would care to know. IT’S FINE. REALLY. People need to talk smack and since I’m not an innocent victim, they feel the need to talk smack about me. It’s cool, it’s cool. I can understand that emotions are running wild.

I draw the line though. You know where? GOLD DIGGER.

DO I LOOK LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING GOLD DIGGER TO YOU, BITCH? Perhaps my bank account isn’t as huge as my problems, but that doesn’t mean I’m jumping at every chance to be with a guy JUST BECAUSE. Call me opportunistic, call me a liar, call me manipulator, call me anything you want, but gold digger? OH HELL NAW. If I WERE setting myself out to be one, let me tell you, I would CERTAINLY try do better than a manwhore and a repressed child. I mean, seriously think about it. A manwhore who hasn’t held down a proper job in years and an ice cold diva who can’t even acknowledge his own feelings? I know I’m a masochist, but I’m not THAT much of a masochist to make everything harder for myself.

This is the point where it dawns on me that not everyone has realized what this situation is about and that I should keep the people who *do* know close at hand. To have called me out on something that has NOTHING to do with the anguish of the decision just brings light to the fact that some people will just remain ignorant to some things. And do I have to explain myself to them? OF COURSE NOT. I owe no explanation to anyone but those who actually matter.

LET ME BE GREAT!!!    WHO HAVE I HURT SO BAD THAT THEY WANT TO DESTROY ME?   WHO HAVE I EVER SPOKE ABOUT SO NEGATIVELY?

Time to taka cue from Kanye West himself, TURN ON YOUR CAPS LOCK AND FUCK THE HATERS.

My life is taking another punch. TO THE FACE.

And since the Universe thinks that I am their little plaything, they have now taken it upon themselves to see me suffer more. Yes, more than what I’ve already endured. It wasn’t enough that they got me together with a total douchebag for six years, get knocked up by the same asshole, endure a year of lies, suffer through the Spanish crusade, lose a handful of friends for the sake of an ill-fated relationship experiment deemed as “not real”,  have a brief yet scandalous season with a man of Irish descent, scald still open wounds with The Manwhore experience, throw my family off to the other side of the world and leave me completely alone, be humiliated that The Douchebag has gotten engaged to the whore he cheated on me with, have a torturous encounter with Spanish ex facing off the Swedish paramour, whose also made life a little more miserable by imposing his presence upon my household, but now I get to revel in the happy happy joy joy experience of losing The Nanny because of her disapproval of my parenting skills and choice of boyfriend.

EVERYONE HAS AN OPINION ON MY LIFE. But I don’t see anyone doing anything to make it better. Thank you, Universe. Just when I thought I could breathe deeply and contentedly, you drag me back down to what looks like to be the most evil pattern anyone has ever encountered. It’s just plain cruel to put ONE PERSON through all of that hell in less than 3 years, no less. This is just what I need, another limb severed from my already limping body. Sure, go ahead. Don’t throw me a frickin’ bone or anything. Just toss whatever shit you find lying around my way and I’d be glad-er than a motherfucker to take that bitch on.

No, really Universe. Was that not enough? I don’t deserve to just enjoy life for ONE SECOND? Fine. FINE. Fair enough. You want to do it like that? So be it. I DARE you to make my life worse.

I.

DOUBLE.

DOG.

DARE.

YOU.

3 weeks is less than 333 years

The short of it all: The Spaniard is back in town.

A week ago: He broke silence and messaged me, wanting to catch up when he got here. I am not such a cold-hearted bitch and said, “Sure, something-something one of these days sounds nice.” A tad bored, but polite enough.

Fast forward to yesterday: I was walking along Valero, on my way to work, a couple of feet away from me was The Spaniard walking along with the controversial friend. I didn’t know what to do as I was caught off guard not having seen him in so long, I feigned a phone call. Instead of acknowledging me or saying, “Hey! Hi!”, he kept on walking, COMPLETELY IGNORING ME for fear that the friend might feel uncomfortable with the encounter.

Today: Not even as someone he used to be with, not even as a friend, but just as someone he knew, it was insulting to have been ignored just like that. I can (sort of) understand not having the spine to stand up for me when we were together, but not saying anything when HE made first contact and said, “I don’t want to pretend we never knew each other” is a DICK MOVE.  And somewhere along a conversation, he actually thought that I would leave my wonderful boyfriend just because he’s here.

WHAT AN ASSHOLE.

When The Purple Settles

I could drink myself to a stupor, cuss like a sailor, fuck like there’s no tomorrow, be lewd and inappropriate in public, and be absolutely unedited in almost all aspects of my life. I’m used to getting my way or just doing things by myself. I don’t have to consult anyone or ask for their opinion. I could party the week away or lock myself up at home and do absolutely nothing but flip through the television. The times, they are a’changin’. I’ve been by myself for so long that I think I may have forgotten the very carefully choregraphed dance of being in a couple.

The Viking and I may just have had our first serious fight and all I can think of is, “Well, if this isn’t going my way, then fuck this shit.” That’s a bad sign, isn’t it? The Bestfriend has already scolded me for being a brat. She knows me so well. Even without volumes of stories on how I can easily break down anyone’s spirit, she knows that my mean streak is HELLA mean.

I don’t like talking about my feelings and certainly not good at making up after a fight. I’m thisclose to calling it quits. But I won’t. The Viking may have had valid points in his argument but he can be quite stubborn and narrow-minded. He wouldn’t dream of even considering my arguments. There is no talking to someone like that. He is not receptive to creating a discussion. He’s right, I’m wrong, show’s over.

The Tipping Point was when I realized it was already 6 AM, had been up all night, and had to go to work in a couple of hours. Shouldn’t there be some sort of consideration for people who actually have to get up and go to a real office? No, seriously. Waking me up to TALK ABOUT FEELINGS is not cool. NOT. COOL. AT. ALL. And then talking about an issue that was already resolved HOURS ago? And then be kept up ALL NIGHT LONG?? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???

I NEED SLEEP. And to anyone who thinks they can jerk me off and rob me of the few hours I have will see the fiery pits of hell. Guess which dumbass decided it was fun to keep me awake. THAT’S RIGHT. I may not have said everything I’ve wanted to say and sufficiently screamed but I’m working through it.

At this point in time, I just want to resolve the fucking issue already. I don’t need cryptic messages or secret emails to my other friends. If we fight, we fight face to face. None of this bullshit. I tried to be nice, but it’s seems as if it’s going to get worse before it gets better. I’ve been bruised, battered, and worn, nothing hurts anymore. YOU WANT TO FIGHT? BRING IT.

“Only after disaster can we be resurrected.”

- Tyler Durden