Nothing can go wrong on Sundays

Except when you’re nursing hangovers or people in your house suffering from it. But I’m always looking forward to Sunday. It’s like waiting for the Ice Cream Man. Metaphor FAIL.

Weekends are special when you’re a kid (especially if you’re a catholic). I don’t know if it’s just my family but after hearing mass (like around 10 or 12 nn), we always go to the mall, do the grocery, eat outside and be a FAMILY. On sunday nights,Dad would play his vinyls at home while Mom will smoke outside the garage. Later, Dad joins her, hands her a Cali shandy or San Mig light and they’d be talking all night long. Meantime, I will lock myself in their room watching HBO until finally they’d shoo me away - ask me to go to my room because you know, I’ll get in the way of their attempt to bring a sibling into existence…. Perfect!

That was probably some 10 years ago, when I was still living like a good catholic school girl.

Now, Sundays are grudge-free, sloth-filled days. It’s when you just want to sleep all day. Doing nothing has never been this fulfilling. NOTHING - as in just lie there, stare at the ceiling. NOTHING - like listening to old cds and momentarily doze off  by the end of the first track.

Nothing is ignoring a text from a relative asking you to travel to the far North or South. Ingrate, that I am. I’m sorry. I just feel so lazy that if I stay to 5 more minutes in the couch, I’d camouflage and be its appendage. 

Nothing is not minding that your eye make-up from last night’s gig makes you look like a racoon. 

Nothing is saying the rosary when you’re about to fall asleep again because you failed to hear mass for the NTH time.

Nothing makes perfect sense on Sundays. God is a genius. 7th day, he sat there saying, “Shit, I’m done. Bring out that whore, Eve. No, we’re not doing nothing.’”

Ask the Oracle

Deadpan Diaries

Dear Diary,

Holy fuck, I’m now a cancer?? Apparently somebody fucked the heavens so bad the astrological signs moved. Before, I was a mighty lion now I’m a disease. Nifty, innit??! I am not complaining don’t get me wrong. But you see, I can always relate to leos. We all live in our eccentric little worlds. Did you know that before, I took the term “eccentric” as a compliment. I thought it mean’t you’re unique and special. Looked it up and it really meant weird and retarded. So now that I’m a cancer I’m supposed to be emotional, loving and sympathetic. Consolation is I get to have the same zodiac sign as Ringo Starr, John Cusack and guess who…Imelda Fucking Marcos! *Knuckle bump*.

 -o0o-

Jumping Pedophiles, Michael Jackson is dead. No, really he is dead. Probably had a glutatione overdose or something. Let’s all pause for a moment of sheer bad-ass silence. Also, Farrah Fawcett, tha sweet angel whose hair I envy. DEAD. Celebrity deaths never fail to amaze me, they always insist that there’s foul play just because what??? they’re celebrities! Everybody loves them and will eventually forgive them even if they were really rotten like corpses when they were still alive. Oh, the irony that is hollywood.

-o0o-

July. Usually the month when I extemely feel nauseaous. And the weather.. Ay, can you believe this bad bad weather?? One minute my underwear’s about to dry then the next minute they’re drenched again as if I just finish washing them.  You know, I don’t fit in those little folding umbrellas. They’re all useless to me. They get blown by the wind  so basically  they all turn inside out and end up in our bodega. Of course, the next course of action you’ll take is to try to get to the nearest shade but when you’re walking in the sidewalk of a highway you’re just really asking for a miracle. So yeah, I carry those big umbrellas, like the one’s they put on sale during summer. Take that you stupid weatherman!

-o0o-

Just had the annual physical exam 2 weeks ago. Yep, the time when they asked you to strip, only it’s against your will and you really get nothing out of it except the feeling that you got harassed or something. Last year I tried my very best not to giggle when the doctor started to massage my breasts trying to look for lumps. Took her about 3 minutes to figure things out, they’re just tubes of lard and not cysts.  Also, it tickles, I tell you. But this time around, I let out a giggle–not like the “yeah do it again” giggle but the “uhm, stop poking my girlies, bitch” type of giggle. Really awkward moment. I MEAN REALLY. The next examination room probably heard it and the doctor on the otherside paused for awhile to eavesdrop. Fucking idiot thinks I’m having a good time.

So, I also forgot to bring my stool. Pardon for the french but it’s kind of a hassle to force yourself to poop. It’s like raping your butt. I dunno. Good news though, I lost some weight (well, if we’re comparing the results from last year). I still have a lot of work to do and heck, I don’t know how I can sustain the motivation.Next blog entry should be about me and gluttony.

 -o0o-

Opted not to buy the NIN tickets, then I saw Yan Yuzon’s tweet and he said that Pupil will be opening the concert. Obligatory *headdesk*. Oh well, consolation is Lady Gaga confirmed to perform in Araneta. The remaining events which involved me agreeing to watch and trying to save some hard-earned whore cash still remains a mystery. And I’m still contemplating on that  lightning bolt tattoo. Oh, I’m so ready to rot in inferno with you Gaga.

-o0o-

You really think life is peachy? No. In fact, the next few months will be a motherload of brick shitting. This year by far will be something to look forward to. Let’s just say I’ll always be the haggard never the bride. Yep. I’m helping to accomplish something awesome for the BFF who’s gonna get married this year.  One word: BRIDAL SHOWER. SNAPS! Got to put the thinking cap on. MUST GET A LIFETIME SUPPLY OF RED BULL.

-o0o-

They all wanted the best for me. I know. I know. I am an asshole.  And I’ve been given the “your still young and you have lots of opportunities” speech. But I’m stubborn. And that’s the primary ingredient of being the ingrata. *SIGH*. Lord, help me. Don’t let me screw the chances of going to Egypt or moshing in a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert. And last but not the least, please get rid of this zit in my left forehead. This saturday, I need to look like a decent human being or at least a HUMAN BEING.

Sincerely,

Joyce