Monday, September 24, 2007
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Thus spake Irish || 2:00 PM || 0 comments

Monday, December 25, 2006
Christmas eve

The old folk just had to moralize. They just couldn't let it slide. Fun suckers. They suck the fun out of everything. Why couldn't they have just left us to our fun for a change? It's fucking karaoke. I don't see why we have to make a big fucking deal out of everything. The point was to celebrate, not to analyze the bloody lyrics for their content. Tito just had to bring it up and all the other elderly fart bags joined in on a lengthy sermon on 'how we ought to project ourselves properly (especially us 'young ladies') through our choice in songs' crock. I'm sorry, but I didn't hear anyone complaining when everyone (that means the oldfolk) was singing along with me to 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' which have those innuendos like they kept referring to. And hey, when Aileen, who's uh, 10 yrs old or something, sings 'Burn' it's all right, but when a Ate Rizza sings it - well, apparently it's inappropriate.

What a bunch of hypocrites. If they didn't like it, they shouldn't have kept paying us a hundred bucks every time we got 90 and above in karaoke. Jeez. What pissed me off more was how condescending they were - talking to us about sexual innuendos and such in songs as though we didn't have a fucking clue. Um, excuse me. We're not as ignorant/innocent as you think. Read: We're not stupid. It's just that we don't take ourselves too goddamn seriously. Ok, so I might have pushed it when I actually sang '...her boyfriend's a dick' in Teenage Dirtbag (only because I assumed everyone was having fun. I mean, I got my whole family to rock out earlier.) but still. It was all in good fun. Gah, my family is so frickin' anal.
And I hate all that bullshit they spewed about how we should, as ladies, be more decent and all that crock. Uh, sorry, but I don't much care for packaging myself 'appropriately,' at least not by their standards. I might as well wear a habit and join the convent. Ugh, I can imagine how much worse it would have been if Tita S had been around. Shoot me now.

What lesson is there to be gained from all this? I was better off when I wasn't a karaoke-whore. That or, I might as well abstain from karaoke when the old folk are around, because it's unlikely I'll be able to find wholesome lyrics to sing. I can't even think of anything besides 'Twinkle twinkle, little star.' Although, mind you, with a little imagination and the help of accenting the right word - I find that it will almost always be possible to insinuate something pervy. We of the Triumvirate know this all too well.

So anyway, go figure. Everyone lost their appetite for karaoke after all the funsucking. That trainwreck got old fast. I mean what did they expect? That we'd pick up from where we left off? Even if I had picked an oldies song like Fever, they would have still found something to harp about. If they were so inclined. I'll bet you they were, too.

But up until that point, everything was actually fun. I come from a family of karaoke-whores, and have thus turned into one at some point. We had scandalous renditions of Doobidoo and Bohemian Rhapsody which was kickarse, and like I said, my family singing along to Nirvana (A mulato. An albino. A mosquito. My libido!) Mostly I stuck to the rock songs, because apart from being fun, I get a higher score when I belt out the lyrics. And come tomorrow I will no longer have a voice. Neither will my cousins. That, and I swear this is for real - everyone around Tito's house had rented videoke machines as well. There were like three or four in our vicinty, but ours was the coolest. According to one of my titas, ours dominated and drowned out the other machines. Haha. Yeah, we rock the casbah that way.


Now if only it had stayed that way.

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Thus spake Irish || 12:17 AM || 0 comments

Sunday, December 17, 2006
Christmas Wishlist

Just because. Yeah. This is me getting into my Christmas Spirit, or at least the materialistic side of it. Either way, for anyone who has a mind to give me presents (Christmas and Birthday, hah) here are some guidelines. I know it's nervy, but I can dream. Mwaha.

In no particular order:
1. Neil Gaiman's "Fragile Things"
2. Chuck Palanhuick's "Invisible Monsters" (preferably the one published by Vintage books :P It has a purty cover)
3. Or Fight Club. Or Haunted.
4. Mr. Punch
5. Sin City
6. Just for the sake of completing ze collection - Sandman vol.1, 3, 4, 8
7. A shirt that says "Kewlness"
8. Money. Lots.
9. Those damned Purple Highlights. Which I may or may not get. Depending on how much I think about it.
10. That gray hip band thing with a clasp I saw at People are People. (I might get this myself if I come back)
11. Demon Days - Gorillaz
12. A Pantscape. Y'know, those floppy pants which come with capes.
13. Any one of the Fables (Vertigo) graphic novels, except for vol. 5
14. Any of the His Dark Materials Trilogy
15. Wicked

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Thus spake Irish || 9:44 PM || 0 comments

Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Random Asshole Moment

So um... where did you get the idea we were friends again? And while we're on the topic, it's sad and I don't think you know this but I don't know anyone who likes you.


... Sigh. I wish blogger had the LJ cut feature so I could say --

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Thus spake Irish || 8:51 PM || 0 comments


Fade to... um, blonde

A couple of weeks ago I finally got those purple highlights I kept bitching about. Only if you'll take a gander at my hair, you'll see three different colored streaks - namely blue, almost blonde, vaguely purple. I speculate that they either left it on too long or too short. Either way, I don't really mind as I rather like the effect. Although I do dread the day the all the color fades, because then that would mean I'd be left with er... the bleached streaks. If it ends up looking funky, I'mma henna it. Because I'm cool like that.

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Thus spake Irish || 7:15 PM || 0 comments

Monday, November 20, 2006
FURY

So help me if I run into that BITCH again, I will tear her to shreds and dance on her fucking entrails. I've never been so pissed off in my life. I can't help but feel that nothing would appease me more than to feel that woman's hot blood spill all over my hands and to feel her scrawny neck go limp in them.

She just wouldn't stop.

I really should've talked back. But there I was, I just sat there and took it. I mean, what the fuck, right? I was trying to avoid making a gruesome scene in a confined space, but she bloody insisted on harping and harping and harping. If I didn't have better control of myself, I would've done something remarkably stupid. I should've dared, I should have fucking dared her to commence with her threats. See if she had the guts, and if she did, I would've taken absolute pleasure in retaliating. With words. Maybe even with physical action. And definitely some help from the judicial system. I know people, bitch.

See this is how it went down. I was in a jeepney and the air was blowing my hair around and accidentally brushed against this woman's face. Irritably, she orders me to hold my hair down, and even has the nerve to grab a clump of my hair to stuff away. Fine, it was partly my fault. But if she had asked politely and didn't have the fucking nerve to touch me, I wouldn't have put on such a surly face. She notices and commences with a series of biting remarks about how rude it is to inconvenience people with one's hair and how long flowing hair in TV is not the same in real life. All this time, I'm thinking, what the FUCK crawled up your ass and died? I try my best to keep calm and ignore her, maybe if I ignored her long enough, she'd shut up. She doesn't. Out of spite, I don't pay much attention to gripping my hair, and some of it brushed against her again. Thus subjecting to me to more abuse. She takes this a step further by asking me, "Gusto mo bang sabunutan kita? Kasi gagawin ko! May gunting ako dito. Gusto mong gupitan kita?"

And there I sat, still quiet. At this point my anger was taking a physical manifestation. My hands were shaking and it was all I could do from lunging at her and ripping out her throat. I was so close to going over the edge and spewing a torrent of profanities upon her person. I should have fucking DARED her to try. And I imagine how divine it would have been to retaliate. I have my pepper spray. I have my nails. It would have been so worth a mark on my permanent record just to break her.

But then I didn't. The old bag was lucky. She was lucky, becuse it's the kind of abuse that she doles out that drives people over the edge. And I was so very, very close to it.

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Thus spake Irish || 1:06 PM || 0 comments

Monday, November 13, 2006
Good day Sunlight

And the semester starts anew. My first class for the week is Theo which starts at 11.30 in the morning. This is good in that I can sleep in, bad in that sleeping in makes me more lethargic - not ideal as I'll be needing the energy to stay awake through the damned class. Scrawled on the first page of my notebook was my first impression of the subject, and I quote: "This is the start of what I predict is going to be a terminally boring class." I can't bring myself to look forward to it or the other 3 Theo subjects we're required to take. Ugh, this is what I detest about Catholic schools. I do not appreciate my prof either. She seems like a prude. And she's the strict, crabby, boring type. How fortunate. Seriously, if one day you replaced her with a St. Paul nun, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference without the habit. She's the kind of prof who has a seat plan. From experience, odds are if the prof's got a seat plan, she'll be the rigid type. Which she is. It's a pity too, as I had a perfectly decent seat picked out. Now I'm up front so covertly falling asleep is out of the question. Oh and she's given a shitload of homework already, including a Reflection Paper. Woo. Odious joy.

My schedule's alright. It's only defect, apart from a hellaciously early Psych sched, is that my break's aren't as coordinated with the poppets. Eh well.
On Sci 10, I haven't a fully formed opinion just yet, but it seems bearable. There's a shitload of people in the class. And Fidelis. Someone to botherbother.
Western History promises to be interesting. This dude walks in asking if this was the History class, and we're all yeah. And everyone's rather suprised to see him hop on to the teacher's table. He looked like more like a student actually. And he reminded me vaguely of DJ Qualls, or DJ Qualls if he were Filipino and if his nose wasn't so long.

More classes fer tomorrow. Ugh, I curse you, 7.30 class!

Thus spake Irish || 9:29 PM || 0 comments

Saturday, October 28, 2006
Of cemeteries and birthdays

Today was weird. Mostly, the eventful bits were contained in the cemetery my family visited this afternoon. See, the plan was to go to one of the cemeteries, go back home to change then celebrate Tito Ernie's birthday. The cemetery was so clean. And while the rest of my famille were setting up candles and flowers and such, I was pondering how interesting and cool it would be if I could do a perfect Judo roll over those graves. Yeah, disrespectful, I know. Not that it was my intention. It just occurred to me as something you don't see very often, if at all, and that it would be funny to see. It's probably because those perfectly rectangular mounds of grass reminded me so much of the tatami mats. But, yeah.

Everything went downhill from there though, because I started feeling funky in a way that was uncomfortable. I could feel my head getting lighter and my vision fuzzier. Then people started pointing out that I was visibly getting paler and paler. I remember having spells like that before, except that they were fleeting, whereas this time it kept getting worse until I had to lean on my mum for support. From what I could tell in that state, I was a few inches away from passing out. And all that time I was thinking, Shit do I feel crappy. Oh, look the tatami mat-like graves are still there. Maybe I have to go to a hospital. It also occurred to me that this might be what those patients in House feel like when they're about to faint. It got so bad that my dad had to carry me all the way back to the van. Whatever it was, it passed eventually when I got to lie down. That felt weird. Tita Agnes says it was probably hypoglycemia kicking in. Ate Rizza, my cousin, tells me I probably got sick because of the depressing shitty ass classical/italian music Tito kept playing.

It's probably all the lack of sleep come back to haunt me. Gah. But yeah. I didn't get to eat much of my Filet Mignon which is a pity because one, it was so much fun to say, and two it tasted good. There were sining waiters though, which was cool. I love singing waiters. They were so friendly and energetic. And harmonious. That and they had free cake. Mmm.

Yes. Today was weird. Noots.

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Thus spake Irish || 10:17 PM || 0 comments