Ugh!

Inspired by a YM conversation I had with Ria last night. So... what parts of your body makes you insecure? Mine would be: dry legs, skinny limbs, my boring hair, misaligned teeth, lack of a defined chin, my sleepy eyes, posture, lack of a butt, my nails, and peklat.

I know it's no help to your self-esteem to dwell on them but it's seriously fun realizing it's not just you who nitpicks on your appearance.

"I have man shoulders!"

Full Circle

I haven't written anything on this blog for the longest time since I've been uploading my random brain farts in my Facebook Notes but since I kinda missed writing here, lemme start again with this stupid question:

Would you rather get caught by your parents:

a. doing drugs

or

b. having sex

Because I honestly don't know which would be the lesser evil, haha. I'd pick A only because it's not as mortifying as B but the repercussions could be a million times worse. :p Then again, maybe I'm just really petrified at the thought of being sent to rehab.

Badass Pinoy

“[Lapu-lapu] certainly wasn’t going to sit back and let a bunch of smallpox-carrying non-M41 Pulse Rifle-toting Colonial Marines stamp his balls into dust and carry of the women of his sizeable harem, so he mobilized a large force of the most badassed warriors he could find and prepared to give the Conquistadors a wooden-plank asskicking that would make them wish they were back in Catholic school getting their knuckles bloodied by angry nuns.”

- Badass of the Week: Rajah Lapu-lapu

Today’s Online Treasure Find:
Ben Thompson’s “Badass of the Week“

Learning about history, heroes, and cinema/literary icons has never been this hilarious. Put a Wikipedia nerd and a frat boy hooligan together and you get the funniest reads of badassery throughout the past and present. I recommend the King David, Leonardo da Vinci and Han Solo entries.

Big thanks to my cousin Kathy for the link. I cried so much from laughing today.

Thursday Blues

I got a text this morning that made me panic and I ended up accidentally burning my uniform top while I was ironing. Then the threads holding the clasps of my pants have come undone, so I have to pull up my pants every few minutes while walking. It has also been raining and so these clasp-less pants have been getting spattered with puddle water everywhere I walk. I also looked in the mirror today and discovered that I have a new pimple right in between my eyebrows like a freakin bindi.

Something tells me it’s really not so bad, but it just seems like it because I’m currently hormonal. With that in mind, I think I’ll watch “My Best Friend’s Wedding’” and stuff my face with chocolate when I go home.

Rarrrrr.

Nice Girls

Who Dares Wins

Deep down inside, I always thought of myself as a nice girl. I don't screw over guys, I'm loyal, I'm responsible, I have good work ethic, I'm not particularly that reckless, I'm well-educated, I'm somewhat domesticated (except for laundry, I can do everything), and on my good days, I know I'm someone you can bring home to your parents.

But... I'm not a pretty girl in the Ani DiFranco sense. My girl friends and I have that in common. I'm a hurricane of a woman. I'm a ball-buster. I know I have a crazy, quirky personality that shoots out bolts of lightning. I am a daredevil. I can dance up a frenzy and I can wrap my arms around you and serenade you with goofy songs. I do art, I write, I skate (i know how to ollie but that's it haha), I gesticulate wildly when I tell stories. I take the lead and twirl guys around when I do my drunken ballroom dancing. I gladly hurl myself into open sea when I can because I love the water and I like to swim. I'm a slippers and sneakers girl. I can't dress plain even if I tried. I laugh long and loud. I eat like a boar, and I drink like a fish. I give the dumbest pop culture references.

And while I love who I am and who I'm continuing to grow into, sometimes I can't help but feel jealous of the nice girls who seem to have it easier. While I perceive a good lot of them as bland, insipid, and boring, I have this paradigm in my head that tells me that these are the girls that guys will gladly be knights in shining armor for.

I'm very complex and very volatile, and yet I know I'm worth it. But I can't blame most guys for going for something with less complications. Rest assured though, I know that we'll rock your world and we're girls for keeps.

Ok, somebody shoot me already!

Perfecting Loneliness

Perfect?

I think I've developed a grave mistrust of guys who are too smooth or too bolero. I used to get butterflies over that sort of attention back in the day, but seriously... If a guy tries to tickle me, "bicker" with me (you know how that goes, they'll instigate a fight or a debate with you to rile you up as a way for them to get your attention), makes fun of me, texts me about things that aren't loaded with anything ("Hey"), or pulls out the pa-cute card, I'm out of there. I think this is me moving out of the playground already. I hate games. If a guy can sustain my attention without the need for magic tricks or a bag of props, only then will I bother spending time with them. Unless the props are really that brilliant, haha.

So What Happens When Warped Tour Boy Grows Up

Allow me to explain the title. "Vans Warped Tour Boy" was a term I coined while I was chatting with one of my best friends Ria. Warped Tour Boy is the term that epitomizes the type of guy that I tend to fall head over heels for. Warped Tour Boy is a boy of the post hardcore music persuasion. He has sexy facial piercings. He skates and rips like a crazy motherfucker. He's a walking endorser for skate brands such as Element, DC, Adio, etc. (though needless to say, the caricature isn't pogi and I like them boys pogi).

Warped Tour Boy has to have gorgeous ink. He plays in a post-hardcore band as well; if he plays the bass, I'd be all over him like a fat kid on a cupcake. He drinks, he smokes. He gets plus points if he has not-so severe, not-so long spiked hair. He can rock classic black Chucks. He can wear a white short-sleeved button down with a skinny black tie and look like my personal savior. He has an impressive collection of band shirts, pins, and posters. He has a stash of studded belts.

This imagery has kept my heart in a flutter for years.

I guess I remembered my old friend, Warped Tour Boy when I found myself at the rock stage at Davao Festival last year. I try to make the annual pilgrimage because I love my music, I love the festival communion, and I love being around like-minded people.

Granted that I do find it annoying that Lolita-circus-Emo arrived to the masses 8 years too late (then again, herd mentality in any form is annoying), that really wasn't it. I have been in mosh pits with unsavory characters and I have found myself in sketchy, hole-in-the-wall bars many, many times. It takes a lot a to faze me.

I guess the tipping point happened while I was sitting on the gravel in the parking lot holding my cup of Red Horse. "I don't belong here anymore," my head seemed to say. I compare it to watching a movie you loved as a kid years later then finally seeing all the tacky special effects. It doesn't change the fact that you still love the movie, but it's like having a myth shattered.

I couldn't find a single band I enjoyed at the rock stage (maybe except for Cog, because... it's Cog, biases aside). I liked hearing the Ambassadors' old songs, but I found myself not being able to relate to the new ones. The other bands, to me they just sounded like ripoffs of my favorite bands with the vocalists not quite nailing what I wanted to hear. Maybe simply put, I really don't resonate with this generation's rock sound now. It sounds too rehashed, too formulaic... to the point that you can see the strings holding up the flying heroes. It was like emerging out of Plato's cave, or realizing Falkor from the Neverending Story was just a mechanical puppet. Ouch.

I've been feeling this way about the rock scene for quite some time, hence my absence from a lot of gigs for years now. When it all comes down to it, I'm really there for the music. If friends really wanted to see me, they know where to find me. When I graduated from Ateneo a couple of years back, I found myself unconsciously hanging up my studded belts. My standard uniform of a tank top with my black bra straps sticking out, the baggy flared jeans, the Chucks, and the stud belt is now a fleeting memory. I stopped listening to Thrice after Vheissu. Thursday disappointed me heavily with A City By the Light Divided. Taking Back Sunday's albums get weaker as the years go by (in the same note, I have to give credit to Brand New accomplishing the total opposite). I'm actually also dreading Alexisonfire's Young Cardinals. If I can't like it, then it's over. It's really the end of an era.

I remember Warped Tour Boy because I realized that I'm not Warped Tour Girl anymore. I can't go on creating my projections out of my subculture affiliations because I know that I should stop creating projections period. Come to think of it, my Warped Tour Boy doesn't exist anymore. No, thank you. I don't like hanging onto the past. My dream boy would have the better sense to grow up.