Sunday, April 1, 2007

Of all the things to write about..

I could write about that Jun Ducat-hostage-taking-but-not-quite brouhaha, but that issue got stale fast. I could write about watching watching and listening to Mario Ongkiko (of the 'Ang Kapatiran' Political Party, whose three senatorial bets I will vote for, regardless of the stinking fact that they prolly will never make it to Magic 12) speaking candidly on Forum:2007, and shaking my head 'coz I know the rest of the voting public will never EVER know better than to vote for Gringo, Ping, Chavit, or--gasp--Victor Wood(!). How mature. T-T

--Wait, maybe I'll write about this one but not today, 'cause it's early morning and I don't want to get my brain all worked-up and bothered until the next morning.

But what I really want to write about is...(deep breath) my failure to take a bath for this day. Yes, I have gone without soap or water for more than 24 hours. It all began when I took a look(took a look, took a look, took a look--it sounds stupid nu?) at my white bath towel, and noticed that it looked...unclean. Like--even if I took a bath, I wouldn't feel too clean if I wiped myself dry with something that looked like someone had wrapped herself around it and rolled around in dust and dog hair or something. Plus, I saw some very visible, dirty handprints. 'The hell? Is my househelp mad at me or something, and so now she's decided to take all her frustrations out at my one and only bath towel? I don't think she's taking care of it very well; perhaps she just drags it around outside the yard, and hangs it to dry where street-dust can have easy access to it.

Anyhoo, I convinced myself that I won't need to take a bath since I'm pretty sure I won't be doing any strong physical activity for the rest of the day. But that was 14 hours ago and now yesterday's deodorant has broken down and my head itches and I feel a serious dandruff attack coming on. I feel so bad.

I don't know why I'm blogging about this. All I've been doing these past few weeks is whine and complain, whine and complain, bitch about something, and then whine and complain. Wah wah wah, my towel isn't clean. Boo hoo. When did this become a big deal for me anyway?

I don't know, really. I'm sorry, at first I thought it was fun to air my trivial grievances, but I realized in mid-typing that I'm just being lame. Laaame. And now my post is too long and too precious to delete and so now I can't stop typing lame-ness. Plus I just realized that I am being incoherent, and Lord knows how incoherence is such a big issue with bloggers, 'cause every blogger I know always ends up feeling bad or saying "I'm sorry Im sorry please bear with me precious reader, please dont give me forty whacks" when they type-up something incoherent.

But what the hell?!? Why am I apologizing to my dear, precious readers now?!? Am I obliged to kow-tow to them, and offer them flowing verses and intelligently-phrased thoughts and well-planned posts? Is there no place for incoherence and mediocrity and just plain spontaneity in this world?!?

Now you know there is.


Anyhoo, my friend Claire finally sent me an SMS--the first in almost 3 months.

"Plip, inom ta."

Oh, the economy of her messages never ceases to touch me.

I really don't like to drink (I remember, the last--and first--time I drank beer, my whole body swelled-up and broke out in red, itchy patches. How sissy-full.), but she likes to drink. And that's that.

Whatever. I will not be coerced into chipping-in for a bottle of alcohol whose taste I will probably not enjoy. I don't care for getting into that whole 'getting-drunk-and-light-headed and-forgetting-all-your-problems'-state, 'cause I'm guessing the whole thing's just overrated. Plus, I never enjoy throwing-up. It's the only reason why I'm afraid of getting fevers: I hate the taste of vomit.

But I'll probably take her up on that invitation, 'cause I miss her, and I terribly need to be with my friends. My good friends. No, my better friends.

There are no best friends.