My life is dictated by electricity. Ever since the power outage, whatever smidgen of normalcy I had in my life was shut down too, leaving me to spend the past few days living in this strange little funk: not caring about my thesis, which was supposed to be due on the 29th, not caring about my eyes, which have been strained from all the reading I've done by pure candlelight, not caring about my funds, which were dwindling to begin with and have now been pretty much obliterated thanks to all my trips out to Happy Mall Land.

The Day the City Died, also known as Thursday, was spent with Pubey Boy, who was also going mad in the dark. We ended up watching Step Up, this godawful Save the Last Dance rip-off, and feeling sorry for Rachel Griffiths, who apparently couldn't get a decent role since Six Feet Under went six feet under.

Friday was first spent alone in Mega, where I checked my mail and received some strange news. Feeling unsettled, unsure whether to feel hopeful, screwed or absolutely neutral, I just kept pacing the mall and wound up back home much earlier than expected. Fortunately, Jakes was also going mad in the dark, so I ran off to the House of Decadence and spent the rest of the night with him, Bigs and, for a few moments, a typically tipsy Lee.

I was still feeling a bit out of it this morning, not completely able to recover from the randomness of the previous two days, but then I received the loveliest news from Ma'am Beni.

I got into the Ateneo Nationals. Woooooooooo. Hoooooooooooo. :)

So there. Something solid. A happy thought to get me through the last three weeks of this semester.

Best feed on more electricity now, while I'm here in my mother's office. Goobai.


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I’m currently writing the critical reflection for my thesis, which is the honest-to-goodness last chunk of this, this thing I have to finish before I can really say that my defense-ready draft is, well, ready.

How do you reflect on the production process when it consists of sitting in front of a Word document all afternoon? The production process consisted of sitting in front of a Word document all afternoon, and the author found it a bit difficult to complete the end of her screenplay’s second act due to an itch in her left buttock. She attributes this complication to the shoddy swivel chair upholstery of CTC 112 and not to any fungal infection she may have acquired during this three-day period.

I’m going to hug my advisor after all of this. Maybe even weep on his shoulder. I don’t care if he’s gay and may have eeew-someone-with-a-vagina-is-touching-me issues. You’re getting squeezed Lorenzana. I’m going to wring all that fancy Indian herbal tea out of you.

+++

Storm’s a-brewing. No classes tomorrow, or so I heard. I just hope the game tomorrow pushes through, especially since most of my friends have been going apeshit over getting tickets. That, and I want to watch us win. I’m not big on sports, but believe it or not, I have some semblance of school spirit in me. I do get caught up in all the furor when I watch good Ateneo vs. Whoever games. Oo, aside from the fact that I can’t roll my R’s, Atenista rin ako no.


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One hour sleep. This morning coma Philo. Last night pocket rockets. Tamad picture wag na. Lost round still dammit. Deadline thesis Friday no no. No. Yes. Yes please. Mary report Theo tomorrowhahahaha. Press “publish” Blogger okay. Meme na.

Aaaaawhat’shappening.


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Barely survived this morning’s second Philo long test (I love learning about ethics. I swear I do. But Kaelin’s test format just falls under the principle of asceticism.). Completed the bulk of my thesis, reaching that point when all you can do is say, “Screw it. Eto na, Lorenzana,” and pray that all those months of work and panic weren’t for naught. Read a particularly nasty bit of nastiness online that nasty supported nasty nasty my belief nasty that she is nasty nothing but a nasty nasty nasty nasty yaaaak kadiriiiiiiiiiiii ipis kaaaaaa ipiiiiiiiiiiiiiis I can’t even finish this sentence kasi ipis kaaaa ipiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis. *Stomp. Squuuueeelllllllllcccchhhhhhhhhh.*

(Did you know that the white glop that comes out of all the various ipises of the world is a mixture of blood and fat? If I stomp on her, will she release that same white glop or will rainbows and sunshine and starlight sparkle out, accompanied by Handel’s “Hallelujah” chorus? I’m so curious.)

This is supposed to be the start of hell month, but it doesn’t feel that way. I feel more stifled than stressed. Whatever the reason, I guess the dream I had a few nights ago was the best sign of all this.

Basically, in my dream, my nose was blocked up by a lot of clear snot, snot like the hardened residue from a glue stick. There was so much snot that I couldn’t breathe, and for some reason, I’d only remember how to breathe through my mouth at the very last second, just before I could pass out. My dream went something like this: nose stuffed can’t breathe shneerrrrk shneeerrrrk oh no can’t breathe shneeeerk shneerrrrk can’t breathe shneeerrrk can’t breathe help shneeerrrrk will die can’t breathe shneeeeerrrrk help help shneeeeeeeerk dying help dying shnerk dyi—shner—dyi—oh wait, my mouth. This went on for quite a while, until I was able to drag myself to the Katipunan 7-11 to get a Vicks VapoRub stick. The thing was, I was torn between choosing the mild one, which I was used to, and the heavy-duty, this-will-make-you-go-blind one, which I knew would work better but scared me. I think I chose the scary one, if I’m not mistaken, though I can’t remember if it worked. Anyway, what I do remember is that stuffed-up, suffocated feeling, and I guess the dream did hint at how I would feel for the succeeding days. A feeling that I was trapped but not really.

But not really. I just want this sem to be over.


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If I may be so bold could I just say something
Come and make me my day
The clouds around your soul don't gather there for nothing
But I can chase them all away

Why d'you need a reason for to feel happy
Or be shining for the rest of the world
Give me just a smile and would you make it snappy
Get your shit together girl

You got a feeling lost inside
It just won't let you go
Your life is sneaking up behind
It just won't let you go
No it just won't let you go
What I'm trying to say

Is would you maybe, come dancing me
Cause to me it doesn't matter if your hopes and dreams are shattered
When you say something you make me believe
In the girl who wears a dirty shirt
She knows exactly what she's worth
Knows exactly what she's worth to me
That I can see, I can see

If you ever find yourself inside a bubble
You've gotta find your own way home
You can call me anytime you're seeing double
Now you know you're not alone

- The Girl in the Dirty Shirt, Oasis


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It’s the last leg of the sem, and my mind and body are drained in more ways than I could have imagined. This is supposed to be the time when I’m in full nerd mode, what with thesis and finals and all, but I’m guessing I’m only around 60% of that right now. The other 40%, well, she’s another dork altogether. “Moronic” is the kindest word for it, I guess. Let this meme suffice.

Nicked from everyone else:

7 Songs I Am Listening to Right Now
1) Positive Tension – Bloc Party
2) And So I Know – Stone Temple Pilots
3) Turning My Safety Off – Sino Sikat
4) Fake Tales of San Francisco – The Arctic Monkeys
5) Hard to Beat – Hard-Fi
6) Protection – Massive Attack
7) Is This It? – The Strokes

Ah, the common vein. I am in so much trouble. In all fairness, this feeling is very new to me, and it is helping me get through my days in a very strange way. There’s a reason why people place themselves in danger, after all.


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Before anything else—

Squeeeeeeaaaaalllll. Oh, Lukas Rossi, you will most probably never ever ever encounter this stupid smidgen of cyberspace, but congratulations, you sexy motherfucker. I hope you continue to get me off even after the reality show, unlike JD Fortune, who, well, ended up topless in the desert just like every other rock hack. You have edge, anyhow, so don’t screw it up.

+++

I like guys with distinct, clever names.

Oh no. Oh no. (Oh yes.) Oh no.

I need time to writhe.


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Sa mga pumunta kagabi, maraming, maraming salamat.


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I don’t know if there is any significance to my birthday’s falling on Grandparents Day this year, but in case there is, there, I said it. Happy Lolo and Lola Day.

I promised myself to bum around and haphazardly consume as much food as possible this weekend, and I’ve been pretty faithful so far. The Great Birthday Whatever actually started Friday night, when Javi and Marie reeled me in for a night of poker and tequila. I got pocket rockets early on in the game, my third pair of aces since I was sucked into the deliciously dark and dumb world of PokeHer.



The pocket rockets actually didn’t amount to much since I didn’t play them well, dagnemmet, but that’s okay.

Went to the Comm thesis plenary the next day with only a few hours of sleep. It would have been an ordeal either way, considering that the defense-ready draft has to be submitted in a couple of weeks and I will be all on my lonesome during the defense. I know almost everyone outside of Comm has to defend their theses solo too, but the fact remains that most of my coursemates have an advantage and that I will be very much aware of this once defense season kicks in. Thank god the lack of sleep was able to sedate me a bit.

This is the part where I chronologically list down the events that comprised my celebration of coming out of my mother’s vagina 21 years ago. The mandatory birthday blog post, if you will.

Woke up this morning pretty early.
Ate ensaimada and hot chocolate.
Mom came over with pan de coco (!!!) and coffee. (I swear to god, my idea of heaven involves a breakfast buffet consisting of various cheap Pinoy baked goodies, including lakas, the very questionable-looking, spongey, cakey thing with very questionable-looking shabu-white icing that Arkaye dared me to eat one morning. Like all questionable things, I was very wary of it at first but ended up liking it anyway. It wasn’t spectacular, even for something that cost 1.25, but it grew on me.)
Ate pan de coco (!!!) and coffee.
Received moolah and a really, really nice ukay shirt from Mom.
Received nice slippers from brothers.
Bummed around with the PC.
Went off to the mall with mom, grandparents and brothers for lunch.
Ate too much Thai.
Received the Sweetest Gift Ever from little brother Liam: a one-peso coin wrapped in two layers of tissue and signed “Happy Birthday Ate From Liam [smiley]” in pencil, which melted my puny liddle heart.
Went off to blow moolah on pirated CDs (Arctic Monkeys, Gnarls Barkley, a punk compilation, Panic! At the Disco and Hard-Fi), 5 tops, a pair of jeans and 2 books (The Best American Short Stories 2005 edited by Michael Chabon and this neat compilation of short fiction, novel excerpts, poetry and comic strips).
Went home.
Ate blueberry cheesecake.
Soundtripped.
Danced around with a full stomach.
Bummed around with the PC.
Is currently unwrapping a lollipop.

I’ll start crying over the consumed food and delayed schoolwork tomorrow. For now, however, I will continue to do squat. Yay for squat.

Happy birdie, baby.


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It’s just that I don’t know what needs to be said. No matter how egotistic I am, I’m tired of retrospectives. I see the world in retrospect every single day, through goggles that have don’t forget what’s happened to you before, you sick fuck written across the lens, so looking back on my 20-year-old-dom seems way too tiring.

That, and the fact that I’m living in a bubble right now. Not a bad bubble. Just a bubble. I like the word bubble. Bubble. Bubble. But really, as of now, I’m just in this flimsy, anything-goes state—just writing, just doing thesis work, just hanging around with friends, just letting the Whatever take me wherever it wants to take me—and I feel, well, adequate seems to be the closest word for it. I’m not too bogged down with the usual urgency. I just feel that I’m going somewhere, and that’s good enough for now. The panic associated with this sense of progress will come in later, that’s pretty certain, but later. Not now. Maybe next week. And this okay-ness can’t really result in some dramatic birthday blog post.

So there. My 21st year of existence will begin on Sunday. That’s all I need to tell myself, and that’s all I feel like saying. Yup. Okay.


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I’m turning 21 in a few days, and as someone who writes stifling, self-seeking blog entries all the time, I’ve already required myself to say something about it.

Yup. That's about it.


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I had a mini-heart attack when Ryan Star was booted out this evening.

I’ve been bashing my titi advisor all week, and I take it back. Sort of. He really wants me to do well. It’s heart-warming. I just hope he remembers that I’m doing this on my own. He seems to think I have back-up titi minions for my work, which I don’t, and when I told him that, he just nodded vigorously.

In the middle of the consultation, my titi advisor told me to drink tea. I had just taken a large amount of coffee then, so I went into this hyper little speech about how I had pedestrian taste and wasn’t ashamed of it.

I can’t believe all my sems under Ty is actually helping me graduate. Reflexivity, yo. *pimp rolls around computer hole*

This is why I’m having second thoughts on being a teacher. I really want to teach, but after this, I don’t think I’ll have the will to do another academic paper ever again.

I’m out of cigs. *crawls into fetal position*

Hahahaha. Hahahahahaha. Ahahahahahahahahahhahaaahhhhhh.

Ang sarap ng orange cream Fruitella Lolly Pops. Mmm. Cream.

I just found out today that my classmate from Mowel got married because he got his 18-year-old girlfriend pregnant. Wedding pics na yung nakapost sa Friendster niya. Creepy.

I love the words “delineate” and “ubiquitous.” They’re so pretentious.

I am my titi advisor’s bitch! *thunderclap*

Kupal ako. Kupal.

I get so depressed when I see the copy of “Classroom Management and Evaluation” I borrowed from the library. I did not want to be this person.

STP’s version of “Break on Through” is lovely.

How does one develop an oral fixation? Which aspect of one’s childhood determines this? What was wrenched away from one early on in order for one to always desire something in one’s mouth? I mean, I was breastfed normally.

This is my second orange cream Fruitella Lolly Pop. Mmm. Cream.

Byebye, Ryan Star. Off to Margie’s Storeroom of Faded Reality TV Infatuations you go. Join your friends Judd Harris, Constantine Maroulis, JD Fortune and a smattering of guys from various seasons of Survivor. Oh, and speaking of Survivor, I heard that their next season will divide the tribes by race. Shit. What an absolutely despicable, horrible, disgusting concept. I hope it airs soon.

I want an orange cream doughnut. Mmm. Cream.

There will be no Perks Month this year. It would have been my 6th Perks Month now, but I can't do it. I hope I'll be okay enough to have one next year.


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Marguerite.
23.
Pasig City, PH.

Damned the man, saved the empire.

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