Deadpan Diaries

July 2, 2009

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