A fucking random blog update.

I realize I have not been updating my blog for sometime now, so these are random bits and pieces of what's been happening.

I'm down with the flu. Twice since I got here. People still think Swine flu is funny. Im'ma smash their faces, the next time I hear that joke. I swear to fucking god.

I can eat half of a big ass container of Sticko without realizing it.

I found that I can do without vodka chasers. I don't need fancy sodas, I can have my alcohol and chase it with any fucking liquid in the fridge. -- Like Fruit cocktail syrup. Although, of course, diarrhea ensued, hours later.

People have been thinking me and my roommates are alcoholic. I don't know where that came from, but apparently, every time people sees us, we're drunk and drinking. It does not help that I've three more bottles of liquor in our room. I've been saving my Black Cherry Smirnoff for a special occasion, like popping my cherry, perhaps.

Film school is turning out to be a cliché. It never was. Until I realize that both film schools I've been in has basically the same characters: An older woman who's keen on advocating women's rights, whether or not they're lesbians are highly questionable. A Filipino guy who seems like his main purpose is to defend the poor and masses and use words that I don't know shit about, like socialist, consumerism and propaganda. An innocent, quiet girl, who makes kick ass films. And that highly enthusiastic guy who apparently, can't write.

I finally got myself a boyfriend. I know -- who'd have thought? My parents were ready to accept I was lesbian, and I was this close to thinking the same. -- and as expected, I am torturing and killing the guy. I feel bad, sort of.

I've been surviving with McDonalds and cup noodles and a shit load of chips. Wootwoot. I feel fine, and my tummy's bulging.

Since I got back to film school, the most interesting films I've seen were Drunken Master II and The House Bunny. I wish I was kidding.

I have not turned back into a pothead. Surprise, surprise!

Sometimes, I feel stupid for wearing heels to school. I brought 6 more pairs of stilettos with me from home. I feel dumberer than everer.

Went into a female strip club in Manila. The cheap one. The one that charges you a 100 for the entrance. They made us sit on these filthy sofas, and I had shorts on. I swear to fucking god, I felt my thighs contracting herpes. Girls were boring as hell. -- even the chick who inserted a beer bottle up her vagina was boring. I don't get strip clubs at all.

Since I got here, I've never been alone, and I miss it. I want my room, I want my bed and I want to spend the whole day being lazy and useless and alone.

I need an apartment. A cheap one. My "apartment" is fucking small and expensive and I have a roommate. I don't know shit about real estate, but this just feels like robbery to me.

I got a fucking B for Producing class. That fucking hurts. A B. Holy fucking hell, that hurts. I was aiming for straight A's. I'm not a real overachiever, but B's look ugly on my report card, and I'm saying this only because I've got an Obsessive Compulsive disorder.

Never ever ever ever go to The Embassy Club at The Fort. I know everybody wants to go in, just because its expensive, and apparently hip and cool, and you want to post Facebook pictures from inside the club -- No. It's stupid. Maybe coz I'm older, and I went in there with my boyfriend. And with a guy, all the other fun stuff like picking up strangers and flirting and getting drunk and stupid were unacceptable behavior. Maybe it's because my clubbing days ended 4 years ago. Or maybe it's because people and crowds are just generally ugly.

I fucking hate crowds. I fucking hate shouting. I fucking hate smoke. I fucking hate house music. I fucking hate overpriced alcohol. I fucking hate social climbers. And lastly, I FUCKING HATE HIGH SCHOOL KIDS.

My new, favorite and overused expression is: "Whuuuuut?!?"

I am addicted to strawberry Sticko. I just want that for my birthday, and I'll be the happiest girl in the world.

I've had way too much coins here, they one time added up to 700 something.

I miss Spam for breakfast. Spam and eggs.

I've never fully appreciated the maids and their laundry services 'til I've had to haul them at a laundry service and pay for it.


At times like this, when I'm sick and broke and hungry... I wish my mommy was here.

Dear Diary, Valentines Day didn't suck.

I've only had one Valentines date in my life. I remember that day because it was a personal record -- 7 boys asked me out. And yes, I am bragging.

My Valentines date was this boy who dumped me months before. I don't know why I went, but I canceled on another guy who was already at a restaurant waiting for me.

The guy took me to this expensive hotel for dinner, led me to a table with name cards that had his name... and a name card with Denise, which he quickly hid.

When you get dumped, and you're given a chance to meet up with the person who's dumped you, you always, always have to be better. I didn't know why I thought it would make me a better person, but I went ahead and told him that I was a vegetarian. Throughout the entire date, I ate carrots and his side dishes because I don't eat even fish.

The date would've been fine except I was this blubbering uncommunicative, idiot wanting to cry and laugh at the same time thinking : HOMYGAWD! I'M ON MY FIRST VALENTINES DATE!

After dinner, him smoking at the parking lot, and me trying to make myself seem smarter, mature and less disappointed that he didn't rent a room, we went to an internet café.

YES. A FRICKIN INTERNET CAFÉ. Counter Strike, YM webcams and all.

I wasn't disheartened at all at that time, because all I kept thinking was: IM ON A VALENTINES DATE!

I met his friends, they were nice and they mistook me for someone else with longer hair, and they kept asking when I got a haircut and why I haven't been visiting their turf recently.

I should've been pissed, but then again, I was on a Valentine's date. It was cool, and we ended up drinking and he bought me chips. Lay's Barbecue Flavored Chips, which none of us ate, because it's barbecue flavored and barbecue tastes gross on chips, so he asked me to take them home.

Lay's Barbecue Potato Chips. Thats what I got for Valentine's day. That's the only thing I ever got, and my mom ate it 5 months later and I threw a tantrum.

Im in every position to be bitter and bitch about the holiday, but I don't.

I don't get what's there to hate over the holiday. I don't get how people, who must've had better dates, have something to bitch about. I don't get how some people go around calling single girls with the need to be with other single girlfriends, pathetic, sad or desperate.

I don't hate it, and I'm fully aware of the free sex pass it comes with, like most of the made-up holidays. I didn't complain about being groped last Easter and being molested last October, during Hanukkah by a Chinese guy, did I?

Caption this, bitches!

It's a good thing pictures never really get to say a thousand words because a sentence sometimes make want want to rip them up and tell them to shut the fuck up.

If pictures say anything at all, its usually within the lines of: This girl is fat and has unibrows, this guy's eyes are too close together, this is Carla and she is constipated, this is Carlo with his arms around a prostitute.

Since some people are slow to pick up, we use words and attach captions.

When we do, they're pretty straightforward and boring, like: “Yiheee!”, “This is the expensive sandwich I ate”, or “This is my boyfriend's dick”.

Then there are those who make it seem like their photos are postcard worthy that they just have to put cheesy, sentimental, Hallmark-y captions on them like “A Night To Remember”, which I probably would put on a photo of me minutes before, during, or after receiving my first anal or something.

A friend put one up that actually says: “Those Were The Nights...” and I'm in that photo, and I still don't know which night she was talking about. Another photo I found online was a college photo where the caption read: “I Miss The Days...” I untagged myself in those photos, and I also refuse to include myself in photos with misspelled captions like: "Gurlzz"

They're embarrassing and they make go all goose-bumpy and they make me pee myself a little.

I don't want to see and read people's sentimental notes, I'm not interested in someone else's musing or memories, and I don't care if a couple of drunk faces makes you go all weepy because when I look at other's pictures, all I'm really interested in is to see whether or not they're fatter than I am.

So, spare yourselves the trouble of coming up with captions, unless it's to inform me it's Karl's Post-Op Vagina, 2008.