Posts
ROADTEST.
Brooooomm broooommm
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
rainshowers on a summer season
I had a very relaxing sleep last night with my fan turned off. Although the rain fallen into a mist, it was still way too cold. The last time i checked, it's already summer season. As a matter of fact, i had gone to two occasions of summer beach bumming to date, the first at Canyon Cove with Badz and Ron and the last to Isla de Higantes with Mayeth, Ady, Jean and Kuya Mike. I am even excited to our vacation next week and planning is underway to another adventure on May. All i know is that it's supposed to be the time of the year to frolick and bash (and get our skin scorched.lol) under the smiling sun.
It's alarming how the climate change has been adversely affecting our usual lives. The summer season usually kicks in at the onset of the love month, but this time, rain showers, cloudy skies, and cold breeze linger around even at the end of first quarter. I am quite not sure of any impending news about a storm, haven’t heard of it or read in media, but it’s quite disturbing and alarming in equal measure how our dear world is changing.
A friend of mine posted in his facebook a status about repenting for all our sins because the world is about to end. His evidence: rain showers on summer days. Is the world ending in 12122012? Oh my.
For now, I am much elated for the peeking sun. As far as I could do, I’ll do the sun dance til next week, and offer eggs to the monastery so that our trip next week would have a sunny weather. Hehe. Joke lang.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
boboss
back to hell.
to my right is the dark side.
how can someone so big be so bobo.
oh totoy bibo.
u deserve all the damnation.
boboss
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Stress-free
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Monday, March 26, 2012
Alive
I feel so bad i had to go home earlier.if there's any consolation, it's the roar of my sweetie coming back to life.
Brrroooooooom brrroooooommmm
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Death is not the greatest loss in life.
“Death is not the greatest loss in life.
The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”
- Norman Cousins
The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”
- Norman Cousins
Friday, March 23, 2012
wish list
here comes my early birthday wishlist.
Crumpler Industry Disgrace
Nikon P300
Tenba Cadmium Red Vector Shoulder Bag
Pink Monster Beats by Dr Dre
Yan na muna sa ngayon. hihihi.
Nikon P300
Tenba Cadmium Red Vector Shoulder Bag
Pink Monster Beats by Dr Dre
Yan na muna sa ngayon. hihihi.
Drawsome!
Enjoyed a night of doodles with my Ate Kims in the Itunes app Draw Something.It was indeed DRAWSOME!
I miss you Ate. So much.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Chos!
Yesterday’s kinda worst. So for today, I’d like to start it brand new, and enjoy my work, love my job and work like I don’t need money.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
such an inspiration
Dear Boss,
You inspire me to be persistent in finding a more fulfilling, rewarding and enjoyable job. Thank you for being an @$$h0le. You fuel me to be very eager in looking for another job. You are such an inspiration.
Really.
FU.
headache
There’s a hell in my head last night and it was pounding me to death. Slept way too earlier than the usual.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
advance party
My mind is already off to a vacation.
Sad that my physical self is still at work.
Oh puuhhleeezzzzz. Uwian na J)
Thursday, March 15, 2012
perfect match
A perfect match.
Ipod Touch 4th Gen and Sun Cellular 3g Router (borrowed from Rey. Hahaha)
Now I am utterly disturbed by my newly-installed apps.
Just wanna go home and…
play.
*big evil grin*
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Yesterday
My first time to reach Parang, Marikina
My first time to ride the LRT Line 2. A 20-minute ride from Cubao-Recto, man it was such a swift!
From the last station, taking more than two hundred steps then led me to 
A lot of prayers sent to Him amidst the beeps and honks and cheers and jeers and loud calls and shouts around. I know God heard mine.
Blood-sucking time again. I need to count the intruders in my system.
It was a very tiring day.
But I love it.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Tiring Tuesday
Whoah. Tiring Tuesday.
Been traveling and walking to and from the whole day.
Need to rest muna. I seemed to have caught some virus i am not feeling good na naman
Am such a weakling princess.
Anyways, i hope everything turns out well.
Monday, March 12, 2012
milk and cookies
Milk and cookies are good for the body.
So off I am on a Monday morning sipping hot milk and chocolate chip cookies while working my butt on quality process variables.
It’s a feel good Monday J
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
hide and seek
“Hide-and-seek, grown-up style. Wanting to hide. Needing to be sought. Confused about being found.”
― Robert Fulghum, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten: Uncommon Thoughts on Common Things
Thursday, March 8, 2012
fact you boss
Yesterday, i was so full of hatred i wanted to put my foot in my boss' mouth. I wanted to kick him, slap him, and torture him until he has at least a grasp of what leadership means. He seems to know everything, or claims to be superior, when in fact, he's got insufficient knowledge and null understanding on our production processes.
Oh please save my soul in this forging hell.
Ps. Fact you boss. (Magpakatotoo ka ^_^)
Sinful Ruffles Queso
It's an early morning and I am munchin' on a Ruffles Queso.
Sarap!
Sinful Thursday.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
You Should Date An Illiterate Girl
This is so hilarious i wanna slap him in his face :)) lol
You Should Date An Illiterate Girl
Jan. 19, 2011
By Charles Warnke
http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/dont-date-a-girl-who-reads/
Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.
Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.
Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.
Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.
Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.
Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.
Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.
Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.
http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/dont-date-a-girl-who-reads/
You Should Date An Illiterate Girl
Jan. 19, 2011
By Charles Warnke
http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/dont-date-a-girl-who-reads/
Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.
Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.
Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.
Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.
Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.
Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.
Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.
Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.
http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/dont-date-a-girl-who-reads/
It's Complicated by The Bloomfields
It's Complicated
by The Bloomfields
We used to be the beginning and the end
Not a footnote that you suspend
When will I ever find my own
To be the melody in someone else's song
I should have known 'cause I almost had it right
Now left in the middle of the night
Waiting for my blessing from above
I'm hopelessly in love
Stoplights blinking on and on
The moon shines brighter than the sun
I can't tell where I belong
If I belong at all
Good times just beyond the hill
But heartbreak is bad enough to kill
So you decide to just stand still and time fades away
How am I supposed to read your mind?
How am I supposed to even try?
How am I supposed to say what I had to say
when you shy away, when you shy, shy away.
Stoplights blinking on and on
The moon shines brighter than the sun
I can't tell where I belong
If I belong at all
Grey shades just don't have the thrill
Empty promises just don't pay the bill
I'll take that leap, I will
Come along with me
How am I supposed to read your mind?
How am I supposed to even try?
How am I supposed to say what I had to say
when you shy away, when you shy, shy away.
Stoplights blinking on and on
The moon shines brighter than the sun
I can't tell where I belong
Where do I belong?
How am I supposed to read your mind?
How am I supposed to even try?
How am I supposed to say what I had to say
when you shy away, when you shy
How am I supposed to read your mind?
How am I supposed to even try?
How am I supposed to say that I love you baby,
when you shy away, when you shy, shy away.
We used to be the beginning and the end
Saturday, March 3, 2012
f*cked up
I was supposed to be happy because today's the last day of the work week. But news about our evaluation greeted me bad at the onset of day.
I f*cked up 2011.
I lost my luster already and as time passes, i am slowly loosing a part of me.
Sometimes i see life insipidly, bland to the very fore.
When i decided to let go of the job opportunity
I stayed where i am and bit all the bullets of misery this company has to offer. I often wonder where i got the strengths to stand still despite all the travails of sarcasm, the mockeries of skepticism, and the hard physical labor we had to perform.
**** i ran out of juices. kaboom!
Friday, March 2, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
you fire at me behind my back, i would always know... in due time
I just learned of some untold stories that made clear some things of the past that had burdened me then in some way or another. Some friends spoke negative things behind my back, and managed to strike smiles in front of me.
I won't wash my hands off the matter, but admittedly, these same persons had been a bane at one point in my life. I was just too lazy to hate them that much, for hating them would just make my world smaller, sadder, lonelier and everything in between hell and being more hell.
Having learned now of the real culprits behind that incident when we were questioned by the admin regarding our whereabouts, i don't feel animosity to them anymore. Although i pity them for thriving on petty things to pull us down, i could still laugh to my hearts out on how funnier it had been back then that their intentions were put into question after we had presented our approved and signed forms as evidences against their wrong claims. It was case- closed in an instant. Back then, i never knew who our detractors were, and never did i had any desire to know them.
Now that the cat has been let out of the bag, and now that they have their own faces, i actually wouldn't care. The past has been long gone. It is true that no secret could be kept forever. And if you fire at me behind my back, i would always know... in due time.
:)
the two sides to a coin
I've been missing my sweetie for the past two months. Stuck in our garage, the macho now refuses to start. Admittedly, it wasn't at all easy for me to revert to the cowboy daily commuter, but then again, i have learned a lot and will continue to embrace the journey until i find the car repair and maintenance on top of my priority list.
I have yet to know when i would have my car fixed. I am being generous enough to spend my time wandering. Just because my car can't be moved doesn't mean i have to stay still also. Frankly, i could have it fixed at the onset of its tantrums, but i chose to discover myself more and let it go temporarily while enjoying life's adventures.
But it isn't always that easy. It isn't always that smooth. I could always enjoy a comfortable reclining seat with my headphones on as i snap a nap on our way to work, but nothing beats the moments when i would sing at the top of my lungs while tapping the steering wheel and revving the engine harder as i jive to the amplitudes of Enter Sandman by Metallica and Crash into Me by Dave Matthews Band. I could always read a book or watch a flick in my ipod, or chat with someone while seated in a bus or jeepney, but somehow i dearly miss the solemnity and freedom of being where i want to be at my own convenience, time wise.
Ya know, there are always two sides to a coin.
^_^
Insomnia had been my unsolicited visitor last night
Insomnia had been my unsolicited visitor last night, along with the hordes of depressing thoughts that i could not decipher. I battled harder for the peace of mind that i so needed, and lady luck sided with me as I slipped to dreamland before midnight.
I need a parachute so i won't hit rock-bottom when times like these flash in an instant.
I'm sleepy now.
Gimme a break.
Puhleez.
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