Buy One, Take One

Dreams are for kids. And when you become an adult, they shrink. And you can never go back to realizing them anymore.

        - Stephen King

The monotonous pounding of the laptop's keyboard is amplified by the sickening pounding of this deranged young man’s head, convinced that drinking bottles of vodka ‘till the neighborhood sweeper begins to perfunctorily do his job in the empty Espana rubbles at five in the morning is in itself a fuckin’ stretch.


Never again, he reminds himself, never again dare drink unfamiliar liquor at the assurance of a comrade that the inebriating fluid, pitched in by a marketing ploy of claiming to be the “finest alcohol, slowly filtered through carbon, giving  a clear crisp taste,” won’t kick your guts and hurl you in an all-familiar territory of pitch-dark blackout and sour vomit.

Today I am writing about me after more than six months of self-imposed reclusive hibernation and how it was to be holed up in a random cardboard box filled with Manila paper posts of things to remember and pointers to review, thick textbooks demanding to be read and understood over and over again, and a mad scramble of side-B boxers and empty foils of potato chips under the bed bunk.

As I write there is a tingling sensation in my finger tips and my face seems to be propped up for some Chinese needle therapy, a rather expected result of dusk-‘till-dawn inebriation with familiar faces who cheered you on as you finally decided to face the oft-eluded chance to get on with the college “what-if” dream of becoming a licensed number cruncher.  There is an invisible mallet pounding my temples but I continue to write because the invisible mallet is no match to the hundred and eighty days I spent like a Michael Scofield lab rat in some ancient-looking house plastered with “Rooms for Rent” and “Wanted: Bedspacers” on its façade.

I imagine there are far more excruciating encounters than living a life of a hermit reviewee devoid of social interactions and sexual activities but I will tell you that I don’t fuckin’ care. Today I will continue to ramble about my six-month hiatus and how it is to live on a steady staple of scrambled eggs and canned corned tunas and eventually becoming emaciated due to three-to-five hours of rest at night simply because there are so much more accounting concepts to cover than dozing off to dreamland of caressing taut tits of naked FHM cover girls.

This is how I became a prisoner of my number-crunching dream for more than six effin’ months:

You realize that Somebody Up There has finally decided to give you the golden ticket to fulfilling your long-time dream. He gives your sister a job, the sister tells you go quit yours and take the review, you relinquish your breadwinner title and quit your twenty-five-grand-a-month-worth call-whoring, and you consequently take your ass on some stochastic boarding house once and for all.

You go to review school five days a week, listen to brilliant Accounting geniuses ramble about the intricate and complex concepts of the seven dreaded Board subjects five hours a day, spend the rest of the day following up the lecture with late-night-‘till-dawn reading, and you wake up the next day doing the same fuckin’ routine.

You drown your subconscious with financial statement assertions and complex auditing nuances, stock up on formulas of breakeven point and margin of safety and liquidity and solvency ratios, you suffer from nosebleed understanding the Latin terms of culpa aquilinia, dolo causante, compensation mora, and traditio longa manu, you count the various forms and differences of input tax and output tax and other percentage taxes and when and where to pay these fuckin’ taxes, and immerse yourself to the intricacies of business combinations and foreign exchange transactions and difficult derivatives until you bleed to death.

You quit blogging and smoking and drinking, inadvertently become celibate in spite of you loathing the Roman Catholic dogma, you cut off your ties with family, friends and acquaintances, risk closely becoming a likely patient of the nearest asylum, and you isolate yourself with the rest of the world because you know this dream is the most fuckin’ demanding dream you’ve ever had to deal with so far.

You repeat the same tedious schedule for a hundred and eighty days, give or take, until finally, here comes reality bitch telling you that the time is up and you need to haul your ass to MLQU to take the damn Board.

Today I have just woken up from a post-liquor marathon deep slumber after being exasperated over two friends’ inebriated nonsensical yadda yadda’s, another’s heavy difficult breathing due to too much alcohol intake, and another’s flush of sour barf of shanghai rolls and soy-dipped tofu at four in the morning and I am amused at how silly and maddening it is to be in the company of these crazy clique once again. I am aware I got irked by the loud blatherskite of some of them but it is easy to forget becoming temperamental if you understand that most of these same people will call their bosses the next day concocting alibis of suffering from embarrassing diarrhea and deciding not to go to work at all just so they could keep you company until the bottles have all gone dry.

Today I realize that much has happened within a span of six months and while I’m pretty sure that big changes will come my way soon enough, I am comforted by the fact that the bond with friends and belief from family members that I can do it stays the same.

Today I will tell you why I pound the keyboard like a madman in spite of the sickening pounding on my head. Today I write, after more than a hundred eighty days of self-imposed reclusive hibernation, because I would like to tell you that the questions of long-time “what-ifs” and “what-could-have-beens” have finally ceased.

Today I will proudly tell you that I fuckin’ passed the Board.

[But wait...there's more!]

Blackout

Sa susunod na magsu-swimming magpapakalunod ako sa mesang umaapaw sa Pulang Kabayo, Gran Matador, at tone-toneladang Sugo at Boy Bawang, sisiguraduhin kong hindi na ko sisikatan ng araw kinaumagahan.

Isang mapait na karanasan ang magising ka sa mga mapanudyong palahaw ng tiyuhin at pinsan tungkol sa kung anu-anong shit ang pinagsasasabi’t pinaggagagawa mo noong nakaraang gabing malibog ang buwan bago ka tuluyang mawalan ng ulirat.

Maddapakingshet!

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Uminom ako kagabi. Mag-isa. The Bar. 'Yung gin na lasang parang prutas na ewan? Hindi ako nalasing.

Iyon na ba'yung alak na pinagkakaguluhan ng mga tao ngayon? Tsk. Tamo nga naman ang nagagawa ng commercial at maalindog na artista. Hindi naman masarap pero mabentang-mabenta. Isa lang ibig sabihin nun. Epektibo ang pa-tweetums na paglulumandi ni Angelica Panganiban dun sa ngiwing artistang lalakeng hindi ko maalala ang pangalan.

Inumit ko ang alak mula sa kung saang stock ng mga katropa ko ritong pihikan uminom pero may stock pa rin ng alak. Confusing di ba? May basto ng alak pero madalang uminom? Ano kaya 'yun? Lalantakan ko rin sana 'yung isang long neck na GSM Blue nila. Ang kaso mo, baka mahalata na. Lagot ako. Eh temporary squatter pa man din ako rito sa apartment nila for a week nang walang bayad.

Isang malaking trolley na punumpuno ng Accounting books. Dalawang backpack na sumusuka sa mga maruruming damit, mga pantalong nangingitim, at maantot na kinulob na mga medyas. Hindi na ko naglaba. Pasalubong na lang sa mommy kong alam kong sabik na sabik makita ang kanyang hunico hijo. Isasama ko pa sana 'yung isang dosenang boxers at briefs na amoy alam mo na pero nahiya naman daw ako nang konti kaya nilabhan ko na lang dito bago lumuwas.

Oo na, pinaka-ayoko talaga ang maglaba. Ipagawa mo na lahat sakin wag lang talaga 'yang kunsumisyon na 'yan. At wala akong pakialam sa sasabihin mong walangya akong bata dahil pinapalabhan ko pa mga damit ko sa ina ko. Gahol na talaga ko sa oras kaya hindi na ko naglaba. Kaya tumahimik ka na lang diyan dahil hindi ako magpapabasag ng trip.

Huling toma sa pukenginang Maynila. Huling gala kagabi kasama ang ilang kateammate kong alam kong hindi naman ako mamimiss (Nanood kami ng Kimmy Dora sa Trinoma; mababaw ang kwento but whaddaheck, nagpunta kami run para tumawa hindi para magpaka-artsy fartsy film critic.) Huling araw ng pagpapakaputa.

Goodbye call whoring job, hello full-time estudyanteng reviewee!

I feel excited yet there's this strange feeling of restlessness, this uncertain anxiety that seems to emanate within my two-decade existence. I don't like to speak in cliches but with another chapter closed in my pathetic way of life, I should be feeling the vigor of breathing a new one, or at the very least be optimistic about it. Which I am not, if you want to know the truth.

But then again, normal lang sigurong makaramdam ka ng kaba, ng konting takot. Specially when you're hurled into a new, unknown territory. Kasi kung hindi, that's being complacent. And complacency always warrants a B-list, unwanted outcome or even worse, a sheer disaster. At mas nakakatakot 'yun. Which I don't like to happen, of course.

A quick digression: I intended to write this post entirely in English Lio-speak but decided to do it otherwise. Baka kasi mabansagan pa kong intellectual elitist ng mga naliligaw ng landas dito. At may hinala rin akong 'yung dalawa, tatlong loyal readers na pabalik-balik dito eh nauumay na sa mga high-falutin' shit na pinagsasasabi ko. So Taglish it is for today.

Sabi ko sa sarili ko, dapat before I hit 30 eh meron na kong "angas" na pwedeng ipagmalaki.

By "angas" I don't mean angas na nabuo mo lang because of your pathetic, immature dealings with the wicked ways of the world. Hindi 'yung "angas" na ginagawa mong shock absorber or defense mechanism to release your anger, your depression, your failed expectations over everyone and everything, every circumstance that come your way (Okey, guilty na ko. Kebs!). By "angas" I mean 'yung genuine angas na may narating ka na, na may mga bagay ka nang na-accomplish na hindi pwedeng gawin ng iba, na karamihan sa mga pangarap mo eh naabot mo na. Something that you can be very well proud of because it's not an easy feat and not everyone else can easily duplicate that.

Sa kaso ko, achieving that "angst" is tantamount to passing the CPA Board exams (sa May 2010 na 'yun), getting a "real job" that I've always wanted, securing my independence by living alone in my own cozy abode (never mind if it's in a little cardboard box for as lang as I can call it my own, not merely renting it), meeting that one true love I'll finally be serious with ('yung pang-long-term na; hindi lang petty, immature flings), at kung papalarin, to become simply filthy rich (okey na sakin ang magkaroon ng sariling bahay at lupa sa Baguio).

Nalula ka? Hindi masyadong matayog no? Hamo na, sa taas ba naman ng mga presyo ng bilihin ngayon, eto na lang talaga ang bagay na hindi ka magbabayad. I call it the Lio Loco Mid-Range Time Table. And I still have ten years to fulfill that, give or take.

Notice how I'm trying to avoid using the word "plan" in this post. May phobia na kasi ko sa salitang 'yan. I don't know about you but when I do plan, madalas sa madalas eh sumesemplang lang ako. Or when push comes to shove, gumagawa pa nga kamo ng panibagong shit na kelangan kong ayusin at lusutan. Ang hirap kaya nun.

I'd like to think that with this new realm that I'll immerse myself in, my maturity as a man and as a person will immensely improve. Syempre andiyan pa rin 'yung konting traces ng immaturity, 'yung pagiging childish ko minsan. Hindi mo naman agad maaalis 'yun pero gusto kong isiping etong paparating na bagong landas na tatahakin ko eh magpapayabong pa lalo sa maturity na maaga kong nakilala.

Kung pwede lang sanang i-fastforward ang buhay no? Parang pirated DVD lang na pag ayaw mo 'yung isang parte ng pelikulang pinapanood mo, pwede mong pindutin ang remote para mapadali ang paghihirap ng bida sa kamay ng epal na antagonista. O kung ayaw mo mismo 'yung gasgas na bala, pwede mong i-eject para palitan ng mas maganda-gandang kopya.

Okey. Kelangan ko nang maligo. Kung anu-ano na namang shit ang pinagsasasabi ko.

Magpapa-clearance dapat ako ngayon sa putahan. Ang kaso mo umuulan. And this kind of melancholic weathers is savored best over cold beer bottles, cozy book realm meanderings, and wrapping one's legs to a lover's.

Wish me luck.

Postscript:

Susubukan kong mag-bloghop mamaya bago ako lumuwas ng probinsiya. Kung hindi man eh pag nakarating na ko sa lunan namin sa dako pa roon.

Para kay G. Kulisap, next post na lang po 'yung request niyo. Planado na 'yun. Kelangan ko lang mag-alsabalutan ngayon. Salamat.

Of Books, Blogs, Booze, and Blatherskite Cleric Wannabes

Time and again, I have always professed my extreme loathing on people. Not people per se but people who more than deserve to be annihilated because of breathing the stereotypical shit. People who emanate toxic stupidity and whose dreams are as dead as their ragged testicles. I become easily annoyed with people around me, more so when they wallow in imbecilic pleasantries and dimwit conversations.

Yeah, I can be a fuckin’ smartass if I want to. And yes, I am hard to please.

Granted, I am an introvert oozing with braggadocio but that does not mean I was born one. I have this theory that people are born good and they still grow up with that boxed up moral ascendancy in them. However, society shitnitz and the travails you encounter in life will change this ideal perspective in the long run.

Which is what seems to have happened to me, if you want to know the truth.

Perhaps this is the reason I grew up being icky socializing with others. Don’t get me wrong though. I do engage in meaningful discourses with other people albeit only with those who are within my wavelength and this we do over cold beer bottles. Nothing beats throwing philosophical shit and thought-provoking bubbles over this hot Manila pollution-inhaled flair while submerging yourself in extra-strong malt inebriation.

If I don’t get this amazing liquor banters, then I’d rather settle for a sweet feast of crisp paper scribbles and paperback stories. I’d rather be lost in the land of make-believe with these “real people” – every word they penned being judiciously devoured, every sentence, paragraph being breathed without haste. I’ve always loved the odd scent of printed papers, whose every page lays the children of letters and words and sentences dancing madly in the wind, orgasmically moaning my escape from stagnancy and oh-so-sickeningly-fucked-up social incarceration.

It is in this light then that I threw my allergic stance to people off the window for a night – never mind if I was not in my best Lio Loco coy what with all the shitty unfortunate events that occurred just recently in my yuppie existence, and never mind as well if I had to hide my crappy half-baked Jjampong hair trim under a sweaty Bench cap – just to meet up with a certain blogger I’ve straightforwardly called the three-year younger version of myself.

Funny how far blog-hopping can do. A link. A comment. A perusal of one’s mind. And then a forged connection.

In a world where almost seven billion people are in limbo – earning a living instead of earning a life, performing perfunctory steps instead of meaningful strides – it is a wonder to find someone close, if not exactly identical, to your guarded idiosyncrasies. It is even more remarkable if that person happens to come across your idiosyncrasy in print without you knowing it.

And so it was that in a swirling maelstrom of quenched thirsts and fuckin’ loud music, of flirting girls in tight mini’s and hapless boys mistaken for M2M pop culture chains, of deeply heated religion debates and shallow LOL tirades, of Marlboro smoke circles and two buckets of beer bottles, two young men – one struggling to chase a fuckin’ CPA dream, the other fraught with the ambition of becoming a boom-box shepherd of lost faith; both burdened by a filial responsibility to their families – shared the dream to be the best people that they could be, to reach their personal ambitions without compromises, to live young lives that won’t conform to a shitty society’s entanglement, to dance under stardust sprinkles.

I used to say I am unique and in a society full of neurotic tendencies and scumbag morons, I’ve claimed since time immemorial that there can only be one Me, that there can only be one Lio Loco idiosyncrasy. That at the risk of sounding too self-absorbed, my thoughts are king and the others' paupers. I thought wrong, of course. That night proved it. That night saw all of it. It was like Holden Caulfield meeting The Little Prince. Well, sort of.

If this is the kind of blogger meet-ups that awaits me over and beyond the blogosphere realm, then let me tell you this: I’d be more than willing to accept the invitation, with or without the RSVP.

Just be wary about my tendency to be a fucked up egotistical bastard. I’m telling you so.

Of course, there has to be cold beer bottles.

*First -ber month, first English post after a very long time. Fresh start.

Team Poonam No More (Alternatively Titled Bagong Simula ng Isang Dayshifter Puta)

There's a cliche that tells us about how nothing is ever permanent in this ephemeral world except change itself.

I beg to disagree. What about death? Or taxes? Or how narcissistically cute the bastard author of this one heckuva wicked bandwidth blog spot is? Semi-kidding on the last bit.

For people who have been religiously following this blog for some time now – folks who have nothing better to do in their lives than consider perusing the content of this bandwidth blogspot as a form of escapism from the fucked up doldrums of shitty yuppie swivel chairs and life’s redundancies – the past few weeks have seen swerving changes poised to curb the path of my current call boy existence.

Leche. Lalangawin na naman ‘tong post ko malamang. Nosebleed Inglesan na naman eh. Kelan ba ko nagkaron ng English post na tumabo sa takilya? Wala, lahat ng bestsellers dito puro Tagalog. Maski nga nakakatawa na hindi pa rin pag-aaksayang basahin kapag nag-nosebleed diatribe na ko. Which goes to show either makabayan ang mga naliligaw ng landas dito o sadya lang talagang mahirap maarok ang mga pinagsasabi ko kapag nag-ala Miriam Defensor na 'ko sa bokabularyo ko. Anakngtitengmaugat talaga o! Hmmkei payn. Kantospeak na kung kantospeak. May araw ring ako naman ang masusunod at English ang gagamitin kong medium. Bukas, luluhod ang mga buwakanginang Tagalog posts na 'yan.

Bukod sa night differential pay na tuluyan nang naikaltas sa salaping nakukuha ko tuwing kinsenas at katapusan ng buwan bilang isang kolboy ng Makati, marami pa pala kong mamimiss sa desisyon kong mag-review bilang paghahanda sa pangarap kong maging full-fledged Certified Pekpek Arouser. Whoops! Point of erratum. Certified Public Accountant pala dapat 'yan. Pasensiya na. Nakapasok kasi si Boy Bastos sa kutang 'to eh.

Big changes. Panibagong adjustments sa takbo at paraan ng pagpuputa. Kung dati-rati eh ngarag na ngarag akong makikipaghabulan sa diyes oras ng gabi sa pagpasok, ngayon naman eh gigising akong naghuhumindig pa ang pototoy tuwing umaga bago pumasok sa banyo at sapilitang maligo ng malamig na tubig. Upside down bigla ang lifestyle at balik ule sa pamumuhay ng isang normal na nilalang na humihilik sa gabi at nagtitikol umiihi pagsapit ng umaga. Isang mabilisang pihit sa wasak na wasak nang biological clock.

Pero higit pa sa pinalalang pagkakakalas-kalas ng turnilyo ng aking circadian rhythm, mas importante sakin ang pagkawala ko na nang tuluyan sa team ng mga malulupet na call boys and call girls at call gays na di ko aakalaing bogaloids at magiging ka-wavelength ko rin pala. Ito ang grupo ng mga taong naging kapamilya ko ng ilang buwan, kasalo sa pagsagot ng mga puta calls from outer space - queueing man o hindi (madalas naman talagang kyuwing sa gabi), katagayan ng serbesa pagkatapos ng nakakauyam na pagpasok sa putahan.

Bukod sa malaking suweldo (oo, hindi ako ipokrito; ito talaga ang rason bat ko napagtiya-tiyagaang magpaka-call center pokpok), sila ang dahilan kung bakit nakakaya kong kaladkarin ang tite kong sukang suka na sa paulit-ulit na labas-masok sa [fill in the blank] putahan, ang rason kung bakit kahit gustung-gusto mo nang umabsent eh hindi mo makakayang magbigay ng pekeng medical certificate galing sa Recto.

Mamimiss ko ang team building naming hindi naman talaga team building dahil mas akmang tinatawag 'yung inuman session after a hard day's call whoring work. Ang pagkabangenge namin ni Pareng Binchee na naging buddy-buddy ko na dahil malupet ding magsulat tulad ko at may sense kausap at mahilig ding mang-spot ng chick sa putahan.

Ang kulitan naming tatlo ni Essie at Binchee sa PVP bus kapag umuuwi na maski dehado ako sa bulto ng mga katawan eh magpupumilit pa rin kaming tatlong magkasya sa iisang upuan. Ang paghiram ko ng libro kay Rai na pareho ko palang kumakain ng libro at inlab ngayon sa isang lead guitar player ng isang banda (Yihee!) at magbibertdei na sa susunod na Martes (Pibertdei Rai-chee!).

Mamimiss ko ang mga kalabtim ko sa grupo. Si Lala na muntik ko nang ligawan pero hindi natuloy dahil masyadong kumplikado ang mga pangyayari sa buhay ko nung taym na 'yun at baka hindi ko lang mabigyan ng oras ang kung saka-sakaling relasyon namin. Nyahahaha! Si Emi na malalim ang dimples at seksing seksi pa rin at kapag nagtataray eh lageng nakataas ang kilay with matching manlalapang "Hoy!" sa muka pero oozing with sex appeal pa rin.

Ang paghingi ko ng madalas kay Vick ng pagkain dahil napakatagal pa ng lunch. Ang mapang-akit na paghimas ni Jules na kung itutuluy-tuloy pa niya eh baka may mag-rally na sa kaibuturan ng aking pusod paibaba. Ang pustahan namin ni Mark sa mga laban ni Manny Paquiao. Ang pag-bluetooth ko ng mga seks bidyo kay Manong Joe. Ang pag-approve ng tier3 ticket escalation kay Liza. Ang ever reliable pagpapapaybsiks ni Rache. At sa iba pang mga kateammate na hindi ko nabanggit, mabuhay kayo!

Honga pala, sa bisor kong maganda sana kung naging babae lang at naging kasing seksi ni Sushmita Sen, mamimiss ko ang pagiging lenient niya sa pagbibigay ng suspension at pagbibigay niya ng consideration maski na pumasok kang tatlong oras na lang ang ilalage mo sa putahan dahil nabangag ka sa alak kagabi.

Sa ilang buwang pagiging miyembro ko ng team na 'to, masasabi kong sila ang nagsilbing pantanggal umay sa nakakasulasok at ubod ng toxic na trabaho kong 'to sa putahan. Da best, wala na kong hahanapin pa. Andito na kasi lahat. Kumpletos rekados. Patawa. Bogaloids. Intellectual. Bangag. Lashenggo. Emo. Malupet. Cute. Say it, you got it! Parang dinidiskrayb ko nga lang sarili ko eh. Huhlolz!

Pero ganun talaga. Kelangang umayon sa takbo ng mga pagbabago kung gusto mong may maabot ka. Kung ayaw mong manatili sa palubog na kumunoy na kinatitirikan mo, dapat handa kang magsakripisyo. Sa kaso ko? Kelangan kong iwan ang komportableng samahan at mag-adjust ule sa panibagong pakikisalamuha sa lilipatang team dahil kelangan.

Naalala ko tuloy 'yung sinabi kong sagot sa kanila minsang tinanong nila ko netong huli lang kung bat ako lilipat ng team at kung bat daw iiwan ko na sila: "I need to chase my dream...before I forget it." Lupet ba? Isang kampay na lang para sa astig na Team Poonam!

P.S.

Nakalimutan ko palang sabihin. Sa bagong team na nilipatan ko, may bago akong kateammate na nakyu-kyutan ako. Hindi ko alam kung bakit. Cayin ang pangalan niya. Mukang magkakalablayp na ule si Lio Loco. Yebah!


*Kuha mula sa huling team building sa San Juan, Batangas

Chronicles of Beer-nia: There in Baguio and Back Again (Second of Two Parts)

Something tells me I'm not welcome in Baguio anymore.

• One, I went up with whirring generators greeting me in Session Road because electricity was temporarily cutoff in some urban parts of the city, which meant celebrating a booze session in the dark.

• Two, a continuous outpour of drizzle marred the path to the Baguio Big Brothers' boarding house, which meant trudging the road with sticky loams and mashed mud.

• Three, due to the extreme extortion that occurred during my brief stay in the family compound, the Girbaud wallet was already hanging on a lifeline, which meant limited drinking sprees.

• Four, the cute Pizza Hut waiter
waiting staff I met didn't want to give her number to me, much to my prodding, which meant I still didn't have any prospects for a potential Lio Loco girlfriend.

We'll deal with the last bullet later.

So this was what happened when I visited the cool city up north of sweating Manila to take a breather from the suicidal call whoring job, the trigger-pulling traffic, and the profanity-uttering freaks from the entrails of this sickening city:

Three things: (1) Drink. (2) Drink. (3) Drink again.

Never mind the postcard trips of Camp John Hay or Mines View Park, or heck, even Burnham Park. I've been to these tour itineraries several times anyway. They can wait at some other time. But the drinking session, oh the fuck-me-Freddy drinking session with these guys I've learned to tag as part of my real-life barkadas cannot be delayed.

The good thing about living in Baguio, aside from the pinkish white SLU colegialas and cool, foggy afternoon sex
siestas, is the chilling dusk-till-dawn booze swigging. When the night is hugged by penis-shrinking coldness, you get to drink bottles upon blurry bottles of GSM Blue ad infinitum to combat the sub-zero freezing temperature. Of course, you will be scowled at by the patrolling barangay watchman but who the fuck is he anyway? Just bribe him with a bottle or two of the more vomit-inducing smiling Red Horse and he'll shut his ass up.

Yes, there is such a thing called Happy or Smiling Horse. It is not a myth and I have drunk it several times. This is the kind of Red Horse that bottles the stronger brew and is supposed to get you inebriated quicker than the regular one. Aside from the conspicuous smiling-slash-happy horse imprinted infront of the bottle, it has the label "FOR THAT DISTINCT FULL-FLAVORED TASTE" in caps written at the back instead of the regular "Experience that distinctive full-flavored taste and extra satisfying strength of a world-class premium strong beer" text. You might want to look for one the next time you buy a case or two as per the booze hustlers' testimony, there's always one in a dozen bottles.

Kampay-kampay for that distinct full-flavored taste!

But I digress. Before the celebration of the Jingle Boys reunion (we used to live in one big boarding house whose landlady was called Jingle, hence the moniker), by the way, I spent the entire day first processing my clearance at my previous call-whoring center. I know, I should have done this prior to transferring to my call-whoring job in Makati but what did I tell you, I am THE Great Procrastinator and I only work on things when my ass is finally being chased by the last minute deadline. Haha! This time around, the stimulus is the Form 2306 (or whatever that is called) from my previous employer that I needed to submit to friggin' red tape-stimulated
BIR ASAP to avoid being branded as an income tax evader.

Slacking my feet off while waiting for the gawddamn call center demigods' autographs.

It was surreal when I went inside my previous call center to process the entire paper works and I somehow recalled my early days as a Baguio call boy. Having zero knowledge on how Internet service troubleshooting works (I am, after all, an Accountancy graduate), I groped for terms and technical skills while dealing with some irate South Carolina customer on the other side of the globe. While I had the qualifications of becoming a great technical support representative at a future time, my ISP ignoramus persona back then didn't match the proficient American twang that I possessed. I was lucky to have one patient coach (call whoring term for supervisor) who walked me through all the ISP ropes and taught me how to use my American language mimicry to an advantage. It turned out the coach was not in the same account anymore and is now manning some other team in some other ISP account here in Manila as well.

Oh and yes, I thought you ought to know that I met the EX, of all the probable people I should be bumping my way into, while hunting the signature deities for autographs. I was speechless the whole time she tried to make a little chitchat and gawd knows how I profusely wished to vanish in the exact spot I was at when she noticed me. (You could guess it was rather unhealthy, the breaking up part. Haha!)

My previous life as a call boy, Baguio-style.

Anyway, I had my own taste of red tape and dragging paper works what with all the signatures I had to collect from various call-whoring demigods’ hierarchy and I didn't even know in the first place if the back pay would be worth all the fuzz and trouble I went through during that entire day. It's a good thing Willie, one of the Jingle Boys, helped me with the other clearance requirements as he is one of the security guards in the center. The fuckin' dick has been promoted to chief security apparently and he didn't even tell me about it for fear of obligatory booze session treat. So Willie the Chief Security Officer assured me everything will be taken cared of and took the gawddamn clearance papers from me, reminding me to share the blessing I will receive a month from now. Fuckin' thrifty bastard! Haha!

The newly-promoted Chief Security Officer. Where's the mandatory booze treat, you fuckin' bastard? Haha!

When the night went young and the fog finally descended from the heavens, it signaled the much-awaited Jingle Boys booze session. There was a conspicuous absence of some people as I am aware they've moved on to some other career paths already but we still swigged the night's merriment nonetheless.

I recall that night's laughter from horny sex jokes and funny Jingle banters, that night's sharing of what-have-you's and ice-breaking how-are-you's. Dexter seemed to have bloated like a gawddamn pig in a chain. He had barely joined us in the booze table for fear of sleeping outside the mosquito net that night. I just recently learned he had been cohabiting with a young, runaway girl. Roger, on the other hand, had been afflicted with the same disease apparently. While he does have a girlfriend in the province, the other guys spilled the bean he's currently in a fling with one of the call whore boarders. Fuckin' infidelity-infected bastards! Haha!

Kuya Marwin confessed he has changed his wicked ways and has now stuck to just one serious relationship, admonishing me to do that as well while I am still young or face the dire consequences afterwards when my hair is graying and my hairline receding. I'm thinking he said the relationship nugget either because inebriation has not sunk in yet for him or because he's noticing the peek-a-boo scalp already. Lol! Kuya Charlie made it finally to the Texas Instruments job post and he is currently slaving the chip engineering machinery. Kuya Bonie, ever the dark horse in the group (I'm not meaning it literally, swear! Lol!), was still one wicked rock star with his head-banging guitar strumming. Fuckin' wicked bastards! Haha!

The original Baguio Big Brothers - Kuya Bonie and Kuya Charlie

A lot has changed definitely but in a sense it was still the same, old brotherhood after all. They told me I looked better than the last time they saw me what with the anime-cloned do I brandished and the arguably horizontally-improved appearance I posed. When I kidded them I got busted by the damsel I'd set my eyes on though, the frackin' brothers wouldn't believe me and told me a handsome, young man with wits to boot shouldn't be hard up impregnating girls. Fuck-me-Freddy bastards! They didn't have to rub in the fact that I was the only one in the band without a healthy relationship yet. Is it just me or I really have set a high standard for my would-be beau? On second thought, I think I need to fuck
get the number of the very first kimchi-flavored Chinita I'll come across with in Session Road the next time around - never mind if she can't relate to my fuck-me-Freddy idiosyncrasies and she buys books but does not read them. Lol!

Public Notice: If you look like her, then by all means, send me your resume real quick! Haha!

We're supposed to go bar-hopping in Session Road after the drinking spree but some of the guys were effin' drunk like gawddamn retards. So I said it was one helluva reunion and bade goodbye to the brothers complete with a "see you next time, I'll see you when I see you" shit. I was on the brink of calling it a night when all of a sudden, somebody from the cybersex
Pinoy bloggywood texted me and relayed one big problem that needed immediate action. _ _ _ _ _ told me she left her baggage in the trunk of some random taxi while on her way to the Victory terminal, which contained, among others, her wallet, her VISA, and her credit card, and if I could please come to the terminal real quick and lend her a few bucks for her fare back to Manila.

We're effin' drunk when _ _ _ _ _ from cyber Pinoy Bloggywood called, for chrissake! Haha!

You know what I have been professing here about my being allergic to people? I had to screw that fact one bit and for that time alone, made an exemption. I was reluctant, of course. You must understand that time and again, I hate making public appearances and doing EB sessions and what made it worse was the fact that I was not at my best foot forward -- droopy eyes, slurry vocals, booze breath and all! I was fuckin' drunk, for Pete's sake! Haha! And why'd she have to be unretentive anyway? But then again, it was a matter of life and er... not going back home to Manila, so I dragged my ass and my brothers' and hailed a cab to give her her fare. (Kidding _ _ _ _ _. With all the unfortunate things and family matters that happened prior to that, I'd surely have made the same boo-boo. On second thought, I think I won't. Nyahahaha! Peace _ _ _ _ _! I'm really having doubts including these sentences but hey, you won't take this against me, right? And I think you know better by not taking me seriously. Haha! Remember, you still owe me some Starbucks coffee! Lol!)

Prior to my departure the very next morning, we went to the Strawberry Farm just to buy some freakin' perfunctory Baguio souvenirs and giveaways. Again, it rained like hell and we had to stop by SM Baguio to fill our inebriated stomach linings. We chose to eat at Pizza Hut and this is where the last bullet up above comes in. We met this cute waiting staff whose lashes would surely capsize the seemingly unsinkable Titanic and whose smile would melt any man's hard balls. Haha! I really thought she was gawddamn pretty and I kept kidding her that I needed to get her number every time she passed by our table. Thinking that we were some pesky Bitoy's Yari Ka! frontmen, the statuesque waitress ignored us over and over again and continued to do her round-the-table works.

Strawberry farm-hopping

That's until the (un)fortunate event happened. We ordered a family-sized thick crust pizza but after waiting 'till kingdom come, the pizza never went to our table. Kuya Bonie went to act like a berserk customer and ranted how we were waiting for eternity to have the gawddamn doe served on the table and that our time had been wasted waiting for nothing apparently. She panicked and uttered several sorry's profusely while I was all the while still bugging her for the freakin' cell number. Haha! She didn't budge with my pleadings and gave us another free pitcher of iced tea instead for all the order misunderstanding. Heck, would you believe me if I tell you I even went as far as talking to the manager regarding the matter? Lolz! The manager conceded but said that it would really depend on her approval. As time was running out, I settled for a second-rate photo op instead and for the umpteenth begging, she finally obliged.

The potential Lio Loco girlfriend...not! Lolz!

And the reason for all the Lio Loco evasion? It turned out she already has a boyfriend and he was working as a waiter in the same restaurant as well. Damn you, Lio, damn you for chasing a flower already pollinated by some friggin' Baguio bee! Haha!

Her name's Jed by the way. And yes, she thinks Jed Madela is gay.

Some Random Pictures

Here are some other shots I've taken during the brief Manila renegade stint. I didn't know where to put them in the post so I figured I'd attach them anyway as some sort of postscript photos. I'm lazy to put some captions so yeah, go figure. Haha!



First Month Anniversary!

Yay! I've finally reached my first month in this bandwidth blog spot (it was actually yesterday, to be specific) and I'd like to extend my appreciation to all the Internet bystanders who didn't have anything better to do in their lives and consequently lost their way in this blog site instead. I didn't keep my hopes so high this time around as I know I went back to the original English yadda yadda I was onced accustomed to but what do you know, the site still kicked ass in some way apparently what with the 2,000 (and counting) hit mark it registered. It was, indeed, unexpected and staggering as I was even keeping a goal of only a thousand-mark wonder for the first month alone.

I know I've been too lazy the past month to write something sensible hence, the mediocre number of posts I churned out but I do promise to keep the blogging fire burning and give you, my loyal three readers, more SSDDish idiosyncrasies in the months to come. If you have suggestions about anything you'd like me to write about, don't hesitate to post it anywhere here in the site's four-corner confines.

As everyone else might have already noticed, I've started the Mammary Awards thingamajeesm just for the heck of celebrating my first monthsary here (they say using the term monthsary is grammatically incorrect but whaddaheck, a word used by the plurality will eventually become acceptable in the long run) but with the way things are currently running, I'm assuming we've got a sure winner who goes by the name of Lovely aka Anakngpating aka Wagnut aka Tungaw. Haha!

The prize at stake isn't really jaw-dropping but hey, it's just something I've concocted in the spirit of blog monthsary celebrations. And where in the world can you find such free, no-shipping-charge, tax-free Baguio giveaways anyway? Only here at Breathing the SSDD Mantra! Lolz!

So yeah, if you want to give Lovely a run for her strawberry wine, the deadline's set to May 18, 2009. Haha! Alohomora!