i wish i could say i'll be up awake all night because i'm doing something cool like cutiepie anna, who's participating in a blogathon for the Philippine Animal Welfare Society, but not so, bobbi jo.

anyway, anna's one of the most interesting people i know, so please visit her blog and keep her company while she's doing this. we want to make sure she stays alive, alert, awake, enthusiastic so she could help manila be a better place for all the little doggies and kitties.

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my arm is so friggin' sore.

stupid, stupid, stupid Wii.

i suck at all the games, but holy crap, watching those little Miis is so much fun.

maybe it was a good thing, seeing that my hair was in pigtails this morning.*

one of our patients, after having one of my brownies and upon learning that i was a cheerdancer once in my life, laughed and asked me if there's anything i can't do.

oh, plenty. but i have to admit that i am able to do quite a few things. i don't consider myself exceptionally good at anything, mind. i think i'm more of the jill-of-all-trades,master-of-none kind but yes, i can do all sorts of things.

if the timing's right, mainly when there's a little bit of alcohol involved and i'm relaxed and free of stage fright, i could be in tune when i sing.

i could dance a bit. when there's a little bit of alcohol involved, i could even dance a lot. all night. in heels. on ledges, if they're available. i could even see myself doing it with a pole. and doing it well. but that might take more than a little bit of alcohol.

once in high school, with the help of teenage angst and, yes, a little bit of alcohol, i was even able to write a poem. and i don't do poems.

it's unfortunate that i can't have a little bit of alcohol when i drive.

that might have made this morning a whole lot more pleasant for me and my friend, the driver's test examiner.

"that's something you might want to learn to do. you know, for when the cops ask you to pull over."

easily my most favorite line of the day.


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*although i'm a big fan of pigtails and i really think they're adorable, i don't think i necessarily want a pigtailed version of me smiling up at whoever is checking my driver's license.

this is what i'd look like if lived in springfield.

actually, i think that's pretty much how i look like in real life.


eerie.

waiting for godot.

from best friend anna banana:

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

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had they asked me what image best represents dysphoria, i would've selected an empty mailbox.

and it's not just because the postman has yet to come with my "harry potter and the deathly hallows."

now i ain't saying i a...

there are plenty of things that make me uncomfortable.

thinking about that unwritten critique that was due last week - that makes me uncomfortable.

recalling the last time i mixed beer and tequila and bagoong and allergy medicine - that, too, makes me uncomfortable.

beaded thongs (don't ask, DON'T ASK.) - uncomfortable.

but i think i'm most uncomfortable when people talk about money.

and i don't mean when people complain about how broke they are or whatever. that, i don't mind. and as long as my involvement is not being solicited (the only pyramids i like could be found in northeast africa, thanks.), i have no problem listening to others telling me how they plan on making more.

no, it's when people talk about money in an entirely different context that makes me feel squirmy.

i'm lost to as how to describe what situations i'm pertaining to, but they range from the obvious (like when you're on a date and somebody talks about how much he makes and how his old girlfriend used him for his money, that sort of thing) to the "i can't really tell you why, but this is making me wish we were talking about something else like, gee, i don't know, if black polish would make toenails look diseased, maybe? PLEASE?" kind of things.

money is important, i get that. when i look at my bank statements and bills, i REALLY get that. but i'm not a big fan of the idea that it should be the focal point of everybody's, no, anybody's existence. not that i think it's wrong to aspire for prosperity - i'm guilty of that everytime i'm in the mall and see all those lovely shoes begging for me to take them home, after all. but when people can't seem to find themselves in different social situations and interacting with anybody without alluding to money at some point, well, i find my soul dying just a bit.

whatever happened to building the world a home and furnishing it with love and not even thinking about how much it'll cost to buy all that lumber and manpower, i ask.

so if we do see each other and get the chance to hang out, please don't talk to me about how i could make $1ooo just by signing with this "truly excellent company. no, really. just make five hundred people agree to do the same thing and ka-ching!", or how much different professions' hourly and yearly salaries are, or make me realize how wealthy people are different from the ones who live paycheque to paycheque, or ... actually, just to be safe, don't talk to me about money or wealth or even mention the word "rich" (unless we're talking about cheesecake, then you could repeat the word all you want.)

because it really makes me feel bad.

as bad as asking somebody to hold your hand and freaking him out in the process.

yes, THAT bad.

old habits live free. or die hard.

i'm not entirely sure if it's because i find myself on the brink of treading familiar and not entirely desirable ground, or if it's because i've been having a monumental struggle to even start a paper for weeks now that i felt the urge to read my old entries and relive a time when words came more freely.

too freely, i now see.

but i felt like doing this all over again. and while there have been changes in the past year, i don't think waking up and realizing i've suddenly morphed into j.d. salinger has been one of them. so if you find yourself being subjected to the banalities of what and what i didn't like about 'transformers', or if i ultimately decided on eating ube ice cream after debating with myself on whether i should or shouldn't for virtually the whole day, you could blame it on a lack of serotonin or the trauma that is caused by a course that i'm convinced is part of the dementors' arsenal of soul-sucking methods.

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in case you were wondering, i liked the movie.

i hate that bumblebee was not a beetle, and that optimus prime had *wince* truly hideous flames which would not be unfamiliar to everyone who counts "pimp my ride" as one of the most brilliant tv shows fo shizzle, that i was a bit troubled by thoughts not really connected to the movie whatsoever, that while i was touched by the scenes with bumblebee and jazz, the movie didn't really offer anything that would elicit the same emotional whirlpool that prime's death in the old movie version (which i saw on t.v., giving me the false memory that he died in the t.v. series. dammit, i hate it when i don't remember my cartoons.) did, but i liked it still.

the hot hot hot boys and girls didn't hurt, either.

and i decided not to eat ube ice cream.

mostly because i was too lazy to get it from the freezer.

i bet you're soooooooo glad that you're hearing from me yet again, huh? i could feel it.