January Syndrome 2010

It’s a miracle that I have survived the last quarter of the year 2009. You can probably tell that I was too swamped to rant about it since my posts were just reduced to once a month which is like withdrawal. It was hell during those times that I was not able to write. It’s like loosing my senses completely. Writing is my only catharsis that taking it out of my routine would like crippling a soldier.

Anyway, we’re back to zero again we start another year. Another year, another chance to fuck it up. I’m extremely, desperately hopeful that this year I’ll be able to vindicate myself–to make up for the screw ups I made for the past year. How to achieve that is gonna be a work in progress which brings me to a recap of the pass few months that I was away chasing my sanity and trying to avoid seeking professional help.

START THE YEAR WITH A BURN

It highly unlikely that you see me going to those spas getting all those girly treatments that involves pain. Pretty much, you can assume that a.) I am a slob b.) I am cheapass c.) I am ignorant when it comes to such womanly stuff. That brings us to the year-ender fiasco —- MY ARMPITS GOT BURNED FROM AMATEUR WAXING TREATMENT. At this point, I am going to pause and let you laugh, cry or sympatize with my virgin armpits. Two days before my friend’s big day, when I decided to have the “procedure” done by my housemate. I cannot remember why I ignored the option to just shave them, after all I’ve been doing that since puberty. But no, I’m all for the whole BE SPONTANEOUS AND TRY NEW THINGS mode. So that night with much pleasure of torturing my virgin armpits, my trusty housemate performed the “procedure”. Each time she peeled the waxing strips thingy (see I don’t even know what it’s called), it hurt which was normal or so I thought. The pain was tolerable not like how I imagined it. They were reddish by the time most of the hair were off which I thought was still in the norm. So just like any patient, I was obedient to my friend’s advice to just put a lotion to the area to ease the sore. I slept soundly that night even if my pits were on fire.

I noticed after a day that they were still quite red and the strip left  a mark on my pits. LITERALLY. I mean, if you see them, you can tell that they were waxed because of left a mark. I thought that it would just go away after a few more days. BUT NO. To cut the long story short (because really will you be interested reading about my stupidity and my burned armpits?), I saw dermatologist and she gave the verdict. They got burned alright, because my skin is ultra-sensitive ( pang mayaman. Yeah right!?) and she also told me that experimenting on amateur procedures are a big no nos. Lesson learned (with all the KIDS-DON’T-TRY-THIS-AT-HOME-disclaimer): SELF-WAXING will cost you your livelihood. Of course that’s a exaggeration but really just an added cost to the long list of never-ending expenses. The only consolation I got is this, I can go EUROPEAN because the doctor advised me not shave or even pull the hair for the next months while I’m still under treatment and recovery. HA! Ok so pretty much I have grossed you out already. So Imma stop here.

P.S. When you see me do no oblige me to give you a full-on wave, I can only do those beauty pageant demure waves because my pits are still sore and eeeeew.

ALWAYS THE HAGGARD, NEVER THE BRIDE

Let’s face it, I am the most inexperienced MAID OF HONOR. I mean while it is true that I responsible and I can handle tasks assigned to me, I am also stubborn, self-efacing and my attempts of being a team player is a big slap in the back. I cannot handle prissy bridesmaids. PERIOD. Unlike best men, their only role is to just take the groom to a sleasy pub with acrobatic women, with us girls you have to do all the works and the drama. THE DRAMA IS NEVER ENDING which I assume is normal and expected.My bestfriend picking me as the maid of honor was probably one of the sweetest things, she has done and probably also out of compulsion. But really, I am a lousy one. I tried keeping it all together. Since it’s my first (and probably last time to ever oblige), I just wing it. It’s like going to a battle not knowing whether you’d survive with all your limbs complete.

When they said that weddings will be one of those unforgettable events in your life, they were right. It will not be a breeze, there will be strong winds to ruin your maladjusted sail. In fact there should be a handbook given to any would-be MAID OF HONORS so that they will know what to do when faced with the following:

1. PRISSY BRIDESMAIDS A.K.A. FIGHT CLUB  -  Some are insensitive and just lay there to get their make up done and bitch about not having matching clutch bags or accessories others are just plain insensitive and would like to get their photos taken at a certain angle or get ahead of others in terms of responsibilities by making lame-ass excuses and others just sit there and wait for the whole drama to just unfold adding to the stress that you have to deal with. Talk about apathy. If I want this kind of drama, I should have just joined the fight club where there will be blood and get your brawn on. With these kinds of trivial fights, all I just want to do is to walk right out and bash my head on the wall.

2. 1 BRIDE DOWN  - The day before the wedding the woman the hour barfs whatever she takes in because of slight stomach flu slash hyperacidity due to stress. So you nurse her back to health and hoped that she does not get married with an IV in  hospital bed.

3. STEPPING IN THE SHOES OF THE WEDDING COORDINATOR AND TRIPPING - For some screwed up reason, the wedding coordinator decides to just really be one of the stressors even during the ceremony and reception. She did abosolutely nothing. You can only imagine how multi-tasking was during the event itself. I mean who else would take her place when all the other bridesmaids are busy with their kodak moments. Running around with heels is also a bitch. I should have charged by the hour in the coordinator’s sheer pathetic “absence”. Kidding.

4. TRAIL BLAZING - How do you fix  the gown’s trail with your high heels on and hiking the uphill steps towards the church? Ain’t a walk in the park I tell you. Tell that to my blisters. Of course, the show must go one when deep inside your feet are killing you and are begging you to end their agony That and burned armpits. Smile for the camera, sweetheart.

The wedding itself was perfect. The behind the scenes was pure carnage. The wedding coordinator sucked pretty big time that the couple should demand a refund. We were not briefed and basically she was just there to distribute the payment to the suppliers. All the hardass preparations were made by the bride and groom, me and co-bridesmaids (well not all of them). So yes, it would be fitting if we just equally distributed their fund amongst ourselves. Total bullshit. It was still successful because really all those superficial fuckery will not really matter because LOVE prevailed. In the end, everybody got drunked, flirted with the groomsmen got their first kiss in the game of most eligible bachelor/bachelorette. Oh we also forgot to get the cake which costs 15Gs and all the food left. Now who’s to blame??  Really. Tell me.

2 DAYS LEFT BEFORE REALITY

After the wedding, when all the make-up was washed off and your curls are back to your regular frizz, you’re left with a hangover from all those PATRON tequila shots. All you want to do is crawl back to your bed and hibernate which was practically what I did. The wedding was December 29 (also my Dad’s birthday). I slept throught both December 30 and half of 31. After the new year celebration at the newly wed’s place, I slept some more to make up for the lack thereof.

REALITY STINGS

And so here we are, what’s to face after all those chorewhoring stint as the MOH, more work in the real HIVE that is called my real JOB, a drone to the comporate hive.

Queen B awaiting for her reports to be finished adding more pressure by saying no pressure. Sometimes, less is really more, bitch.

Now, I’m left with you, Janvier. I always have a January syndrome. Last Jan. 5 was my mom’s death anniversary and I received a bunch of text messages from my aunts reminding me to offer prayers which I did. Suprisingly I was not reduced to ashes when I entered the church.

Oh well. I miss you Mom. I hope to see you again. Soon.