One Bad Thing After Another

Boom, the volcano blew and I couldn't care less...

Who would have known? The day after I saw Daria sucking on some guy's head that the next would be so damn nasty.

It would have been alright really. I guess I'm just feeling over whelmed. Maybe I'm just home sick. I don't really know.

I woke up at eleven. I had to even if I didn't really. I just had to feed my grandmother who can't leave her room because she has chicken pox. I did what was required of me. I heated the food on the stove, scooped the rice out of the cooker, put everything on the plate and gave it to her. I was still tired from work yesterday. Maybe that's why I felt like barfing when I smelt the food. It was ok, really, but for some reason I couldn’t stomach milkfish Spanish style. I decided to make my meal a late breakfast and took out some cereal.

I remembered that I also needed to do the laundry. "Haaaaa...” I sight to myself, bathed and change to labor on the wash on my own. Easy enough task really, if I wasn't so down already. I was finished in about 3 hours and I could almost cry. But the sight of a grown man crying for no reason would probably look a little disturbing to the local populace.

On my way back home I didn't feel sad any more, more of in the lines of angry really. The trolley refused to cooperate and I was dreadfully parched. I dragged the stuffed trolley up the stairs to the third floor and unloaded it.

I was welcomed by the little demon "angel" that is my cousin with an irritating and much undesired hug. I left the laundered articles of clothing on the floor of the living room and I proceeded into the kitchen to quench my impoverished throat when the telephone rang. I picked it up and continued on to the kitchen. It was my mother calling. She told me that I had to do the dinner tonight. I had to drench several slabs of meat with slimy barbeque sauce and bake them in the oven.

I guess it was stress but I just had to sit down on the floor and stare at the sky light. I wanted to start to tear but I didn't have the energy so I just sat there.

After sitting there for about 15 minutes of my hurried life, I started cooking the hearty slabs of beef. I had to hurry because my cousins would be leaving for their school for some meeting but in any case they left before I got finished and I would most probably be scorned later for my dawdling ways.

I left the pieces of meet inside the oven to cook and I went for a smoke in the bathroom. I sat down on the floor again because that where I felt I was supposed to be right now. I wanted to lie down but I wouldn't fit.

My father arrived as I was destroying my lungs inside a lavatory. I lay down on the sofa where I can almost fit my body. My father got some tea and sat down on a chair at the end of the sofa. I awaited the chunks of soon-to-be-masticated beef to cook.

After 15 minutes I checked and flipped the half cooked beef and placed them inside the oven again. I wanted to rest now so I asked my dad if he could watch the meat while it was cooking. He snorted that he was too tired and that his back hurt, classic dad excuse to things, so I did it.

When it was time to turn the oven off, I did. I took out a piece to eat and then remembered that I had forgotten to cook some rice. Luckily, there were some left from lunch and it was still ok. I took some and ate. The television provided me with a few much needed laughs, I felt a little better.

My dad than snorted again, I had to feed my grandmother. Couldn't he do it? His back was hurting so I had to. My heart fell to the floor again. I did as I was required and gave my grandmother the beef and cold rice.

Now that that was done, I went back to the lavatory to have a nice long pee. As I finished I wash my hands and looked up the mirror. I had a new pimple. I popped it.

To be Disturbed, Not to be Disturbed

The Church isn't the only thing I consider holy...

I must warn you before you read on, this blog may contain things that you might not want to hear about or imagine. It concerns a certain episode of the famous teenage cartoon that most people like to call "Daria". Some of you might have already seen this episode or you might have not. If you haven't, think of this as a forecast of the horrible storm ahead instead of the irritating spoiler, and for those who have seen the episode I must apologize for making you relive these agonizing moments.

Yesterday, I got home from work at the usual time and was looking forward to my T.V. time. I anxiously waited for "Daria" to come on, unaware of the stuff that would haunt the rest of my night, rendering me sleepless, staring at the ceiling saying to myself, "Why... oh, why?"

It started innocently enough, Jane asked Daria to paint her hair with hair color to make it look like tiger strips or something. Daria of course tried not to be part of this ludicrous event, but Jane argued that ritualistic stuff like this between friends would serve to cement their friendship forever. Daria retorted that she'd have better luck with actual cement but agreed to so as was requested.

Daria went ahead with the procedure. As they were painting away on Jane's head, they had a discussion over Jane's recent girlhood affection, Tom. Jane has a feeling that Daria and Tom are getting close, a little too close for her comfort. Jane asks Daria if there was anything that she should know or if there was any action going on (a.k.a. betrayals). After a while they proceeded to remove the goofy shower cap of Jane's crown. Predictably, Jane's hair, rather than looking like the majestic shiny fur of a roaring tiger; it resembled the hair of a diseased orangutan. Jane got into a fit over her hair. She rasped at Daria that the action was intentional; the Daria wanted her and Tom to break up and have him for herself. Daria, of course, did not intend for Jane's hair to look like that of an infected primate and was sent away by her bursting friend.

Jane went away the next day to try and fix her hair. Daria went looking for her every where, her house, the school, the pizza place, oblivious to the fact that Jane' went looking for black hair dye that didn't have farm things in its name (i.e. hay blonde, rye brown, etc.). As Jane and Trent went to buy the dye, Jane, with the help of her brother, realizes that Daria was not to blame for her afflicted ape-hairdo.

Daria, as a last resort called upon Tom to find out what was happening with Jane. Tom tells Daria of Jane's situation and Daria goes to find Jane in her abode with her hair back to normal. Daria tries again to apologies for the hair mishap and feels awkward, Jane finally forgive her.

On her way home, Daria finds Tom's mangled shreds which he likes to call a car. Tom on the precept that he would like to talk to her and that the village people in Daria's house (i.e. Quinn and the fashion club) were painting their faces for war(i.e. their blush philosophy and theories date), invited her into his car. I could never imagine how stupid Daria was until now.

Daria accepted the offer thinking that Tom wanted to talk about him and Jane. And to my utter SHOCK Tom started kissing Daria... then Daria reciprocated. It was horrid...

Daria is one of those cartoon personas that you could never imagine them making out with someone stopping short of their wedding night. I wanted to scream but I had to muffle them as not to wake up everyone.

Then Daria told Jane and Jane got all, "Grrr!!!", Jane and Tom split, not because of what happened but that it was really coming anyway (i.e. they got bored of each other, tsk, tsk how textbook), Jane forgives Daria and they're still friends but they can't stand the sight of each other for now... oh, bla,bla,bla!!! Their needs!!! I need a psychiatrist!!!

Obtuse Psyche

physical work + mental starvation + non-eventful life = the circular end of a shotgun

WARNING: This blog may contain stupid rantings and silly notions that may or may not make sense. So... whatever...

I have recently lost the will to write blogs and other written(or typed) materials. I feel as though my spirit has left me, like having both hands but you can't feel the right one, like eating noodle soup when you want them fried, like stabbing yourself repetitively with the obvious results.

As most people who may have noticed, I have left my blog to be festered upon by molds and different varieties of fungi. Not because I hate it, just that I've got emotional constipation and intelectual impotence. Much like the phisical burdens old people suffer from.

It's not just my brain that is at fault. So little has happened in this pathetic continuance, this fradulent form of life, to help jumpstart my grey matter. The lack of material for thought is just so... deafening to my brain.

The only thing worth actually mentioning is that i found work at Wendy's, which is like a "good news, bad news situation". Good news... I like Wendy's... bad news... I work for Wendy's.

I start work tommorow. I want to hang myself. I need several alcoholic drinks and several rims of cigarettes. Actually, just hand me the shotgun.