She · called · me · difficult;

( AND SO THE TIME HAS COME. )

Hahahahaha ahahahahaha. I miss the ostrich. It wasn't even my costume, which obviously didn't matter since I have my save-a-horse-ride-a-cowboy face on. To top it off, the Director of Operations came up to me 10 minutes before closing time, commenting on how "cute" the costume was. I assumed he spotted one of the many retarded pictures my officemates randomly took at paparazzi speed, but hell, I asked him anyway.

Me (half sure, half scared): Where'd you see it?
Boss: From the camera.
Me: Which camera? Mine, Sarah's, or Eddie's?
Boss: *points to the corner of the ceiling* THAT CAMERA.

OH WOW. What is security camera.
Perfect. Now if only NOT all six executives were logged in.

Mmmmmkay. Trick or, well, another trick for me.

alibi:	oh yes i did
reason:	hellogoodbye; dear jaime

Think of 3 pictures you’d like to see. Things around my house, or whatever… something I can take a picture of easily. Once I have enough requests, I’ll start posting them. If I can’t, or won’t, take a picture of something you’ve requested, I’ll let you know.

Sige na, I'm stuck in a meme rut. Direct translation: My brain is on empty I'm a bobo butt. *cries*

alibi:	8am mweh.
reason:	goapele; first love

Not only is it screwy, but intriguingly messy at the rate of permanent.
It would've been the lesser devil if the clutters were like Crayola stains on the wall -- something I could wipe off. Or broken glass I'd sweep off the cold floor.
I would honestly settle for anything I could fix with my hands.

But not pain. Not this pain that goes beyond and under my own skin.
Not another time to choke back tears, thank you.
Not the loss of sense. Or direction.
Not fear I can't push down.

I know it's probably gay that I sound like a quitter, and there are times I could have pronounced just that by taking the quick way out.
But to let myself up and leave is multiple times shittier than all of the above.

You and I, love -- candidly, we're f-ed up.
There are probably thousands of things that lead to the assumption we're unstable together. There will always be that question of life being lighter -- with a plus called 'maybe', and a fork in the road named 'maybe not'.

But my money's still stays on plain maybe.
And my faith still stays with you.

alibi:

0123456789

Sunday, we got home from what seemed the trillionth roadtrip to Vegas. The original (original being the operative word) plan was to escort afterten and her boypreng so they could meet with dolphin1122, who was flying in from Seattle. But Pat being born with natural tendencies of going buck wild as far as 50 miles from Vegas, we had to get morningfair on the phone immediately for exceptionally mababaw plans. (Maki: "E kasi naman you guys love me." UM, I GUESS? Haha, I kid.)

I am seriously considering it as a bill of fate that our hotel has the Titanic Exhibit, because I am floored by that ship in absolute extremist status. It was beautiful seeing all that could be saved still existing. They even had an actual side of the wall from D-Deck, which is far beyond likewhoa. And although we didn't waste the usual ton of memory card space, it was a steady weekend. Always as always when we take the 4-hour drive to Sin City.

Yesterday might have been the scariest day of my whole ENTIRE life, and I'm still blaming it on this spooky storm we're having. I walked into the office after lunch, sat on my fat butt for 15 minutes and realized I had to go pee-pee. Fifteen minutes from walking through the same door with the sun up, I see half of the CSR department oggling at the parking lot under the very dark sky. I kid you not, it was watching the day go from 1 in the afternoon to 9pm in less than half an hour. Of course, me being the enormous pussy that I am, I rushed back into the room to CRY calm my already-hyperventilating self down. And being the undecisive person that I am, I walk back out and stare at the darkness.

As if it was on cue, it started raining hail.
It wasn't even cute little pieces of ice, it was medium-sized ones they serve with 64oz fountain drinks.

ISKURRY.

I owe it to my bladder that I didn't piss my pants. Literally.

alibi:	stop raining already!
reason:	ivy; thinking of you

When else would be the best time for me to discuss this, but today when my sister, Pat, and myself ALL have retarded insect bites from who knows what. It's been a major scratch fest for the past three days, and not even the strongest itch relievers cut it. Pat even woke up at 2:50 this morning to steal scratch time from me (galing mo boy! HAHAHA), when he realized it was almost 3AM (read: The Devil's Hour from The Exorcism of Emily Rose and The Amityville Horror) which need I say, scared him shitless. I must've underestimated the power of pests. My sister practically has red spots all over her body, almost to look like she's getting chickenpox for the second time.

I need Baygon. Somebody Fed-ex.

...
And now, lamebrained insect funnies care of Papa Bux.

Me: Babs, anong english ng higad?
Pat: Hindi ko alam e.
Me: You have to remember!!!
Pat: Ask mo si Tito, baka alam niya.
Me: Dad, anong english ng higad?
Dad: Ano? Higad?
Me: Yes. Yun makati.
Dad: [thinks for 12083570740570760612 years]

Dad: WORM.

alibi:	itching all over
reason:	halifax; i hate your eyes

I just got home from Paramount, from my officemate from my first job's baby's first birthday party. (Feel free to map out the connection yourself, since my brain's presently as messy as the sentence.) Funny how at the end of one year, I find out one of the friends that got me through FOB depression already had a baby, tied the knot, and did a 360 with her life in a whiff. It was initially retarded; almost like meeting her for the firs time. I could barely feel my knees while walking into the house. Kinda like walking to defend your thesis, but less the panel of bitches and pricks terrorist teachers.

I find her at the door. At that time, I think -- Rena is still Rena. Ignoring her noticeable weight loss (which is unfair cos I suffer the opposite when SHE HAD THE BABY) and slightly tanned skin, she hasn't changed a bit. Or so I thought. She instantly takes my hand to lead me to her baby; with no bias do I claim to be one of the few kidnap-worthy kids I've seen in my life.

In between bites of my spaghetti (there she goes stuffing her face again, pfft) I ask her, "Rena, masarap ba maging mommy?"
"Oo, walang kapantay", she answers with her face lit up. "Parang yun baby mo ang pinakamahal mo sa buong mundo."

And I believe her. I believe her to the point I almost cried.
(Punyetang estrogen attack yan. Hahaha.)

For almost half an hour, I watched her walk front and back holding Diana in her arms like a pro. Ironically, what flashed back were all those times Rena and I got shitfaced in different places. How we almost cried everyday over our boy-boys back then. How we used to believe that our lives would never change. And how we secretly hoped that THAT "truth" we were holding on to was nothing but wrong.

Well, it happened. From shallow shopping in Cerritos to giving life, Rena made it. She even flashed me her wedding ring -- I think I got freaking cataracts from the size of that rock. Haha. But seriously, I'm both hands down remembering where she had come from, and seeing where she is now.

Someday I know I'll be the one wiping all the goo from my daughter's (or son's, or son's and daughter's together) mouth, and being damn proud of her (or him, or him and her together) trying to eat on her own. I'm just wishing I could be one proud mommy before it hits me that it's too late -- or I find myself still wanting a baby 10, 20 years from now.

Blame it on the estrogen. I do. (:

...
_{And to please my current oversized baby (Yes Pat, I am talking about you), I manifest your request.
"Babe, sulat mo diyan 'extra - ang guapo, guapo ni Pat today.'"
Extra - ang guapo, guapo ni Pat today.}

alibi:	yo quiero bebe!
reason:	alicia keys; unbreakable

I know regret comes in the end (regret nga e, bobarts) and I've been wading in buttloads since I got the puppies from the groomer. Now I'm seriously considering using the last 80 hours of PTO to stay home and watch my three (sons) all day. They need drill-sergeant potty training rin naman, so I might as well play the part -- and ohsoveryso much more.

PLUS poor Tyson caught an ear infection from the damn neighbor's dog. We've been trying to give him the drops but he goes apeshit on Pat when he knows we're holding him down for meds. That dog feels he's Alpha to everyone, it's freaking crazy. (He takes from the surrogate dad, HAHAHAHA.) The people from pet hospital called to tell us "we're cutting some of Tyson's ear hair off, and it's going to cost you A. HUNDRED. AND. TWENTY. SIX. DOLLARS."

Hold on a second, I think I'm gonna pass out again exactly like kanina.
I KID.

No but seriously, the price kinda floored me, acknowledging my current $$$$ crisis. I may be here but the dollar conversion my wallet honors is still as deadly as the peso, yo. Suffice to say that anything over $99 is kalokohan to me. But then again, (I quote Julio) I wanted kids. And Tyson plus Basti plus Hugo are my little ones.

Except now they're little and bald.

Must be responsible. Must be responsible. Must be responsible. Must be responsible. Must be responsible. Must be responsible. Must be res -- ALRIGHT ALREADY. Six is too much.

alibi:	Ö
reason:	NBA Live '06

...
Hope is waking up in the morning after a really bad dream. Love is You giving us another day to live.
Trust is releasing fears, surrending to any possibility of wiping them all away. Love is You promising us that You'll do just that.
Faith is walking chin-up, although there's no concrete direction. Love is You walking beside us, taking our hands into Yours.
Confidence is saying "I can do it". Love is You telling me that I will.
Joy is waiting for tomorrow, as if there hasn't been a past. Love is You standing to see us there.

Life is believing I'll never have to go on without You.
Love is me taking the same fact to heart, and screaming it out to the world.

They say nothing is permanent, Lord. But You are.

alibi:

and i..

Colby Donaldson is orgas -- okay, nevermind. Albeit his loss to Tina, scoring the Pontiac Aztek gave him serious sexy points -- until I flew to California, and saw Mang Joey (our 45-year-old, he'll be bald in three years, beer-guzzling, barbeque marinading floormate) driving one along Bloomfield.

In that case, out with Colby, and in with Ethan Zohn.
Ethan Zohn is orgas -- OKAY. NEVERMIND.

alibi:

i have to go pee