What happened to "writing regulary from this point forward?"

I guess it flew out the window, in a hollow post, or in my shoe.

"Writing is easy. All you have to do is stare at a blank piece of paper 'till drops of blood form on your forehead."


Next Best Thing To Caffeine

The closest thing that something like this happened before was during communication research and public relations defense frenzy. I have to admit that I miss staying awake for 80% of an entire week and my best friend has become my Mac, Almeida, while I was developing chart after chart, writing and rewriting two papers for defense and another truckload of requirements much-needed for the coveted diploma.

I remember drinking 2 liters of coffee in a night (no exaggeration since I bought 2 pet bottles of 1L water and filled it with 5 packets of instant coffee each! Ask Gus, if you’re still unsure). I read an entire textbook from cover to cover—my first and only—that night. My house then became the “the Weekly Sillimanian” office and I only went home to shower, change clothes, and the works.

After graduation, the frenzied lifestyle mellowed and the only thing that kept me awake at night was partying and booze. No more rush of deadlines, no writing, no projects, no poetry readings, no performances, no rehearsals, no call times. Zilch. Life became waking up late, eating whenever hungry, and partying like there’s no tomorrow when the gang’s around.

It got boring sooner than I expected and I was craving for a mental and physical activity that didn’t include watching TV, household chores, watching TV again, running errands, sleeping, reminiscing high school kapalpakan and throwing dried, abused, and harassed jokes that my barkada repeats everytime whenever we’re together.

And here I am at midnight, two months after, typing this post in a break from work, which is not in a call center. I am practically in the office since Saturday, waiving the weekend gimiks for the call of responsibility. Others call it slavery. I call it perfection! If only office hours turn nocturnal.


The Fat Retort

Answer to the annoying comment, "You're fat."

"Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the Titanic who waved off the dessert cart?"
--Emma Bombeck


How Tallying Survey Forms Can Be Amusing

Laugh-out-loud answers just break the dreaded monotony of summarizing tally forms:

Question: What values or learnings did you pick up from the teambuilding activities?
Answer: Forgiving cheaters


Written Karma

I did not expect events organizing to be full of, well, paperwork. When I applied and got accepted to the post, I imagined a frenzied lifestyle of going to and fro meetings, coordinating with talents and suppliers, and running the show proper. The tedious paperwork and endless research is not part of my so-called gameplan and the statement “I thought wrong,” is to put it mildly.

I used to point out that I have four requirement s for the perfect job: (1) non-confinement to a workspace/cubicle, (2) flexible time sched, (3) non-existence of an office uniform, and (4) opportunity to travel. The first phase of my actual job hunting was aimed to a job post for Greenpeace. My four requirements blend easily with the Greenpeace lifestyle/ job flow. But because of withholding forces, otherwise known as mom, plus plus other factors, such as fate, health and surgery, I wasn’t even able to submit an application.

Needless to say, I jumped to the plane bound for Manila stripped of job targets and left with only one goal—prison break.

My first days were filled of plans of submitting resumes and job applications only to end up drinking at Guilly’s in Glorrietta 5 with Lyde and the rest of his crew from Convergys at the height of noon. Di bale na walang trabaho, nasa gitna naman tayo ng Intercon at Ascott. Lyde’s friends were telling me that if worse comes to worst and I’m still drinking my ass off by the time the mother-imposed-month-long-grace-period-of-finding-a-job is up, I can always work upstairs (the Glorrietta 5 branch of Convergys) and say “Thank you for calling AT&T, how may I help you,” and “Sorry, my system was just uploading,” for a living. I cringed at the thought and gathered all my willpower to get up and start the hunt. My failed and only-time of attempting to pass a resume was downright comedic, storm and flood in Makati notwithstanding.

So it was the high heavens who whisked me to the events and promotions company of a Silliman alumnus, a week after the escape from the previously- enforced reclusion perpetua. I was ecstatic to have found a job of my first choice, events organizing and I was all the more eager to get started.

Boy! What paperwork and research. Pre-prod requires humungous amount of time to get all the data gathered to ensure a “purple cow” event while post-prod requires near-divine patience to compile all those post-event survey forms and tabulate redemption sales and all those hullabaloos.

The event is the crowning glory. You have to do the needed research and paperwork to make sure the crown is yours. One wrong move in post-event and/or sales reports and you get dethroned.

So here’s to deciding to work for events to escape all those paperwork crap. It’s been almost two months since I started and to borrow Jordan’s words, “I’m still coping.”


Stairs, Baby

It’s been quite a while since I started taking the stairs instead of the elevator, in power stilettos! Wait, don’t be too impressed; the office is only at the 3rd floor. But still.

I have to admit that I do not have the patience nor the dedication to enroll in the gym. Well, I can… but give me only up to 3 days, max.

So it’s the vernida stairs then, if I’m not running late. I do hope we’ll be getting along sometime soon.


Deciding To Grow Up...

... sounds rather unrealistic. Well, maybe not.

It's the time of month when you get your payslip and the hard-earned moolah. What joy. But me? I can't help but complain inwardly that my allowance (which does not require office hours and work)  is slightly bigger.

The past month, I was asking myself if I can really do this. Live independently and survive without further support from my mom. There was no doubt I can do the former. I have been doing it for the past 5 years-- four years in Dumaguete for college and one year with the paid tourist stint in Yokohama. What was nagging in my mind was the latter.

Can I really survive without texting SOS to dear mother dear?

While having tantrums back home just so my mom would finally let me go, my answer was why not. When I was finally living way way up north, my answer was I guess. Now, that I'm already earning, it's I hope.

"I cant even go to the laundrymat as often." "When I was in college, I go to the salon for the manipeds weekly." "But, I eat out everytime in Dumaguete!" 

Trust me, my list of complaints can go on and on.

Perhaps the reason why I act childish most of the time is because I thought growing up was an epiphany. Like suddenly bursting into song inspired by wrackspurts or whatever. I thought growing up would just grow in me.

I would like to believe that I'm wrong. And I would like to believe further that people decide to grow up, choosing to be responsible. 

Maybe I focused too much on the fact that Peter Parker was just a nerd and shy schoolboy when the genetically modified spider bit him and made him Spiderman, the "with-great-power-comes-great-responsibility guy." I think it was the timing that called for it. It was "the" time to take on the great responsibility because-- hello--  the spider bit him. What else can he actually do?

Insert me, the I'm-waiting-for-the-call-of-responsibility-and-growing-up girl. I was waiting for the clouds to part, the angel to descend, and say, "Marianne stop with the foolishness and be mature. Take responsibilities." And then insert me again, this time the I-already-heed-the-call-of-responsibility me.

Maybe, I'm wrong.

Maybe, it's not all about waiting to grow up but, deciding to grow up. Maybe, I should be the one to tell the high heavens about it and not the other way around. Maybe I forgot Peter decided to be Spiderman and that the spider and his uncle were just a few things that helped him with the decision.

So, let's take all the maybes in this post and replace them with X. Granted, X was true, I'll give it a shot.

Presenting my First Steps of Acting Like A Grown-up List.

1. Stop whining about petty things.
2. Stop not doing the laundry just because it would ruin my nails.
3. Stop playing ma...

Hep. Wait. I may have had the epiphany but I ain't a saint. Keeping the list at number 2 as of the moment. 


The Cheverloo List

Funny how small things remind you of the "kilig"and/or "igat-igat lang gud" days. And even funnier when these reminders come on the same day.

For starters, I sat beside someone from the Army in the jeep this morning. Okay, I said to myself. What a way to remind myself of "eclavu churvaloo", who is away for further military training.

When Epie and I were buying lunch, three Volkswagen Beetles passed by, one after the other. What the???? Hmm... "cheverloo cheverloo," ikaw ba yan?

After lunch, I realized our project manager Alexis was wearing a shirt exactly like "churvaloo ja nai,"the same shirt I so adore, to the point that I like it more than churvaloo actually. LOL!

The drive home was longer since I accompanied Alexis to the car wash first and what was playing on his car? One of the songs "cheverloo never ever" sent me during those days I was bored and he told me that the playlist he sent reminds him of me. Echos!

What a day! What a day!

*kung kaila pag.hilom. if you know, shut up. kung may alam, tumahimik. LOL. itatago natin sila sa mga pangalang stated above.