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How to Do Mondays p.1

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So.

In my attempt to (try) make my world a little less small and not confined to the four corners of my bed, I shall tell the internet what happened today.

(How does that help exactly? Beats me. Or it’s very comforting to talk about yourself at the end of the day.)

OKAY. So, I took an entrance exam for grad school with my friend Beanturtle. Okay hence titled:

THE MISADVENTURES OF CACKLECAT AND BEANTURTLE FORTHWITH UNDERGONE ON EXAM DAY

Taking exams/doing anything to do with processes in this Univ for that matter, will always always always always involve some form of misadventure. Or maybe just for noobs. Like we were that morning.

“When in doubt,” says I, “Ask the security guard.”

And so we ask, end up walking around two buildings, up four flights of stairs, down three corridors and sweat like pigs (although this is totally wrong about pigs; apparently they don’t actually sweat, hence the cooling mud baths) before we realize we were in the wrong building/decide we were terribly misinformed/decide my motto about guards was complete BS/judge the guards for incompetence/wonder if we were just wasted and nervous and deaf therefore mishearing directions.

Turns out we were totally right on the last part. Re-hash Noob Motto: “When in doubt, ask the security guard…and repeat if desired because it’s absolutely necessary.”

We get to the venue late, receive test paper, gawk at the first item for thirty minutes in complete disbelief of what you have gotten yourself into (adapt what turned out to be a  Shakespearean monologue from Love’s Labours Lost, which of course sounds easy as pie. DUDE HAVE YOU EVER TRIED BAKING PIE?! Whoever came up with that shizzwacker probably came up with “Sweat like a Pig” ok i sidetracked far enough), tap pen against choice of head/table/knee to awaken creative juices of undergrad college days for the next thirty minutes before reducing self to inwardly weeping while proceeding through the test  as done back in undergrad days: BLUFF YOUR WAY THROUGH THE DAMN THING.

And then: decide that the longer you bluff your way through a critical essay, the more it will come off as nonsensical babble. Stop an hour and a half after exam starts. Observe people taking the exam. Feel inferior because these people are working hard. Look over to Beanturtle from time to time. He is also working hard, tapping then heatedly scribbling away. Look away in shame. Pretend to write  when actually drawing peanuts on the desk (Bluffing through an entrance exam and then vandalize?! I am a model citizen, aren’t I?”

An hour on: Giggle inwardly at how people nearby seem to be taking things a little too seriously. To the left, guy performs circular fanning gesture around ear as if to fan words in from the air. Front, beefy hairy guy pencils in fragments of an essay before inking it. His eraser is moldable, squishy, that thing artists use to reach tight corners. he uses it as a pen stand. This kind of process takes him forever to finish. Feel like whatever it is at the very bottom of the food chain because it’s better to exert effort in taking things seriously rather than finishing without even trying, realizing this blog was more descriptive than the story composition part of the exam, wishing the it had the same treatment (as opposed to a quick scribble of a scene in half a freaking page), remaining in the exam room for the electric fans because it was hot outside.

Two hours on: Pangs of hunger. Admire trees. Desperately wish for passing but by the looks of your exam, buddy, that doesn’t seem to be very likely.

Minutes after Noon: after a considerable amount of people have left, decide to leave because butt seems to have molded flat.

Waiting for Beanturtle: Walk around excessively to get blood and plumpness back to buttocks. Empty bladder in restroom. Second floor filled with a handful of students. Explore and discover: A grilled doorway that leads to a steep drop, a maintenance room with a hole in the floor (IT’S THE FREAKING ABYSS, MAN!), attempt to enter all empty restrooms, fit head through a gap in grilled windows and succeed, revel at the smallness of my head, feel like the outer wall of the building taking in the scene and wish I did better on that exam because I kind of really want to be here for the next three years, consider turning into an outer wall instead, realize that birds will shit all over you, pop head back inside, play skip hop in a deserted corridor.

After the exam, walking out the building, crossing the street, tamabay-ing by the tindahan: Snappy, satisfying tirade of swearing,

“Putangina nung number 1, sabaw ng sagot ko amputa!”
“Oo nga shitshitfuckthemoon takte!”
“Why was that the first fucking item–?!”
“Tangina unang mababasa sa entrance fucking exam mo sabog na sabog amputa–”
“Sheeeeeeeeeeet, baka i-etsapwera na yun buong exam after mabasa kasabawan ng number 1…!”
“Yung sagot ko sa number one reads like it was written while completely baked, man. Puta–”
“Bawi sa iba–”
“I put grandfathers somewhere in there–”
“SAN GALING YUN?!”
“EXACTLY! SABAW NA SABAW NA TANGINA!”
“YUNG AKIN NIRE-PHRASE KO LANG!”

Whoever said what doesn’t really matter. Gist of this conversation: We were both really upset. We had met up earlier that morning to review. Beanturtle memorized a shitload of stuff from college readers, books and handouts and none of them came up in the  freaking exam. Our fingers are crossed. asdfghjkl.

Beanturtle leaves for a lunchdate with a friend: Both decide to call the admissions in October to see if we made it. GAHHH.

Waiting for Redpanda: Sip sip water. And watch spazzy sleeping kitty. Get a load of this cutie:

Sarap matulog. Trans: Delicious sleeping.

I don’t suck at translations on purpose. Sit beside that deliciously sleeping kitten for a good hour or so and you’ll see what I mean. And you’ll begin hating yourself for not being asleep/feel a seething unexplainable envy. Out of affection, I cuddle said kitty. Touch its widdle pink nosie. tickle ear hairs, watch them twitch, press paw pads to make claws come out. Kitty sleeps on. Kitty runs in its sleep, scratches butt in its sleep, spazzes like a napping pre-teen in its sleep, stretches contentedly in its sleep. Geez, this kitten could sleep right through the apocalypse.

At some point of course, it wakes up, gives me a bleary eyed ‘don’t-really-recognize-you-or-even-care-because-sleep-is-more-important’  before switching positions and

slowly

falling

into delicious slumber. Again.

Redpanda arrives at this point on, and the foodtrippen begins immediately in the next post because this one has gone on toooooo freakinnnn looooong.

Junk Food and Leftovers

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I noticed how the last two posts mostly dealt with breakup woes. I balk at the kaartehan. My cool proud self scoffs at such trivial things.

That is, if it WASN’T me. But it is. And this is a completely new experience so I conclude that instead of going through the entire ordeal in denial, I’d rather wallow in these waters of shallow despair (meganon). Oo, meganon talaga. I imagine a conversation with myself: me pre-relationship and then me post-relationship.

Me pre relationship: Get the fuck over it. What’s the matter with you?
Me post-relationship: But it’s so hard. I remember something and it all comes back.
Pre: EDI WAG MONG ISIPIN!
Post: Tanga, alam mo namang kungsan san napapalutang utak natin eh!
Pre: May point ka. But there’s no point beating yourself up about it. He’s nothing special and he treated you like crap.
Post: He didn’t; he just…he couldn’t help it, he’s just a kid.
Pre: Well so are you. Immaturity and maturity isn’t the case here. Kung gusto may paraan, kung ayaw maraming dahilan. Gawin mong motto yan.
Post: akala ko motto natin “Ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise”
Pre: Wag kang epal.
Post: Pwede naman i-relate…
Pre: Shaddap. Anyway.  So we hear he’s after someone else now. See? He lied to you. Even after your stupid breakup, he keeps breaking promises. You call that respect? He doesn’t respect you. So can you quit him now? Where’s your self respect?
Post: I don’t know where it is.

And with that, the Pre-relationship me would have proceeded to beat the living shit out of the Post-relationship me for being so damn pathetic. echos lang. SO yeah, he really is after a new conquest. I saw them together. And then pain, and then pain. One of the reasons why we discontinued us was because he said he’d rather focus on school and being alone. I cannot stand being lied to.

ANYWAY IN OTHER NEWS:

Food. Is. Awesome.

I’ve recently been flitting across Quezon City more often, for reasons being: I work here (bleh), might soon be studying here (If I pass and I friggin hope I do), and the food.

Oh man, why does this place have so much food.

Actually, I hate the place. It is dirty, the traffic is ridiculous, and the people (I mean mostly the people I bump into during commute, not the people I know because those people are great) are rude, classless idiots. It is an accepted fact na namamanyak ako everywhere I go, but the numbers INCREASE CONSIDERABLY in QC.  Bastos mga tao sa QC. Madumi sa QC.

Pero naman, masarap kumain sa QC.

Maginhawa Street pa nga lang. Then there’s that awesome Korean restaurant along Kalayaan. I dare not elaborate for fear of unsatisfiable pangs of hunger. I’m at work dammit, I can’t maintain a craving all day. All I got is skyflakes (le sadfez). CAN YOU SATISFY A CRAVING FOR JUICY BULGOGI ON FREAKING SKYFLAKES?!

Just now, a coworker mentioned Jollibee. Hrgh.

 

Murder by leftovers

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Leftovers are killing me gently. Ironic how it contrasts from the previous title.

A lot of leftover feelings. I can keep ignoring and denying them but every damn time i get triggered and the memory of it all comes back, it comes back full swing. And every time it would feel like June sixteen all over again. Since then I had begun questioning my self-worth. You can forget about self esteem; whatever little I ever had of that just went down the acid-ridden drain that is my emotional downward spiral. (Ang daming sinabi.)

I didn’t know the “Being Pathetic Stage” lasted this long.

 

Leftovers For Breakfast

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Cold leftover pizza for breakfast: really messing up my digestive system right now; i feel like I am going to be sick. No other complaints there; free food has been coming my way since last week. It’s like the Universe, having recently kicked me to the ground and trampled me to the brink of death (i am overreacting here!) is determined to have me recover. I raise my middle finger at you, Universe. I’m not even sure if I should be thankful for your help.

It was a breakup, okay? I’ve had it coming for months now, and I had prepared myself but it still feels like crap. At random moments in the day I’d tear up: In a jeepney, at work, at home, in bed while trying to sleep. I hate being so miserable. I will get over it soon, it’s a given. That now I will be prone to bouts of extreme sadness, self-pity and and overall state of being pathetic is also another given.

Also, it is lonely.

But hey, then again, the Universe is trying to help me. I haven’t had an appetite since last week, free food is coming my way. Suddenly, circumstance lands me in situations that force me to eat. No complaints there. I like being forcefed. In return, I force myself to not throw up.

Then there is Lamb, and Bear and Red Panda and Twin Cat and Penguin. Lamb, who has been through something similar, but much much worse (i guess i should consider myself lucky), consoles me. Red Panda takes me out on weekends and sits with me until I finish eating, forces me to finish eating. Bear who trash talks and encourages me to deal, and write and make comics again. Twin Cat and Penguin for the baked goods. Good times, good times. Thank god for these people. Which is why the recent Skype ban at work is devastating; I can’t talk to these lovely people anymore! What of the random teary moments when I need someone to whine to, to help me get over it quickly? Man up Cacklecat. Yeah. I shall deal on my own. For I am awesome. C’mon. Work with me here.

But I guess I am entitled to moments of lying in bed, staring into space. You know. Being completely useless and pathetic. I’d rather tackle this pain right now, head on. Pants can’t contain my balls baby, oyeah, I am so manly right now.

“Pain, y’know. It’s Histrionic.” said Bear.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“It’s like…getting kicked in the balls,” he explains, “it hurts like hell, but the feeling afterward…It is glorious. It is wonderful.”
“Oh.” I say. “But Bear. I don’t have balls.” No I really didn’t say that. Let’s say I did, for humor’s sake. But I didn’t. Instead, I agreed and thanked him.

Anyway. I will write again. I will eat on my own accord again. I will make comics again. I will be happy again.

What I won’t be is lonely again, which right now I totally am.

Meh. (ONG ORTE NOMON)

Birds, birds, birds

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Y’know, for a country that claims to be so modest (at most, even conservative), we make the crassiest jokes.

I was on a jeep, and on the radio, this guy and his partner were discussing how to clean birds. Now, everybody who knows Tagalog knows that “Bird” is another word for penis.

radio dj 1: this is how you clean your bird–hold it in the middle

radio dj 2: not by the head?

rd1: no no, not by the head–and then you wash it and you can put lotion on it–

rd2: what? *smacking sounds* why the heck would you put lotion on it, are you kidding me–?

rd1: so it’ll be silky smooth! Then you have to stroke it so it’ll be relaxed–

rd2: yes, we can’t have it stressed won’t we?

You get where this is going. If you think the insinuations are funny then go ahead and laugh. Sounds like cheap humor if you ask me (at least may humor, ang yabang mo naman Cackling Cat!) Oo, pero NAMAN. I think we’ve evolved enough to make more than just stroking-your-penis jokes. It sounds like something you toss around in grade school when you discover funny names for your privates. It’s like saying “You have to insert and rub gently at first so you don’t hurt the tenders hehehe” when you’re cleaning your ears. Pati siguro pagkamot sa kilikili may joke din somewhere eh. Eh. Come on! Everybody scratches armpits! Oh the potential jokes to laugh at: of people doing everyday things! Oh look, he’s walking! Right? Eh? Bwehehehehe.

Since we’re on birds, I remember that one myth Ibong Adarna where the beatiful magical birdie (whoop, wait for it) poops on people then they turn into stone. Yes I see the potential for another crassy joke there. Thus:

“YES I HAD TO GO THERE! I AM CONTROVERSIAL!” -Bear

^that’s what Bear says when he talks crass and it is an appropriate sentiment for the magical defecating bird thing. I’m not going to say what insinuation I thought of just now. Use your imagination muhahahaha.

For anyone who doesn’t know the story of the Ibong Adarna, click here to make both our lives easier. It’s too long for my two hands. Have mercy. YES I WENT THERE! I WENT THERE BECAUSE I’M CONTROVERSIAL. (gets?)

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I wanted a pop of color. Also, I'm hungry and miss the food obsession on Tumblr

Jams

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Santa and I, over the phone last week: he told me he’d rather abandon the city and go to the province and plant things. And be really disappointed that it isn’t like Farmville at all.

“Where are my lost cows?” He pouts over the phone, sounding like a testosterone fed Valley Girl on helium. “It’s been an hour; why can’t I harvest my crops yet?”

Facepalms notwithstanding, I agree with his sentiments. Someday, I said, I’d give up everything to make marmalade and have thirty cats.

Last Saturday, my friend Bear said he will get rich and make cheese for the rest of his life. Also there is Rabbitcat, who wants to make elegant jewelry and accessories that read profanities, for humor and for irony. Although I wonder, why do we sound like worn-down old people?

*names are changed, if that isn’t obvious enough hahaha