Once upon a time there was a farmer, and this farmer owned a goose, and one morning that goose laid a golden egg. It was perfectly round and shiny and heavy, but more than that, it was SOLID GOLD and would help solve the problem of the farm's rent and the farmer's debts and the children's education and the rising price of gas for the tractor, so he went off to the city that day and sold his golden egg. Needless to say, he came back with a ton of money and the family was able to live well for some time.

The next month, the farmer's goose laid another golden egg that was just as round and just as shiny and just as perfect as the previous one. Again, they were just as ecstatic, and for another long while, the farmer and his family were able to buy more things that would make their lives easier to deal with.

And so it was like that for a year or two. The goose laid a golden egg every month, and the farmer ceased to worry about the farm because who worries about the farm when there's gold waiting to be hatched and ceased to milk the cows because the milk didn't shine or glitter and for a while, that system worked.

Now, news spread quickly about the famous goose, as news like that is wont to spread like wildfire in the right circles. People fawned over it, and politicians came to pet it and soon, even scientists asked if they could study it. They asked the family if they could study the goose and see how it worked, so they could replicate it and maybe speed up the process of gold-laying. And since all people had their flaws and the family liked being wealthy, they said yes.

And so the poor bird was sliced open and it's insides were investigated for hours and hours. When the scientists (vets?) finally gave up, they realized they had a Humpty Dumpty on their hands and couldn't put the goose back together again. The goose eventually flat-lined and rose up to peck St. Peter's rooster guarding the gates of Heaven, and the people stuck on Earth wailed and ranted and cried about losing the only goose that had ever been capable of laying golden eggs, and never more was a goose of that kind seen again.

Now the moral of the story is what?

I don't want to go to sleep resenting you, I really don't. I don't want to measure our friendship by this give-and-take exchange of material things, because friends shouldn't work that way and I am guilty of the same flaws I am seeing in you. I know there's this large possibility I'm taking all this out on you because I was in the car with my mother and we all know that she has this degenerative effect on my mood. But...

But.

I can't help thinking that you shouldn't have to push me this far just because you can, or because you know I won't say no.

And I am SUCH A HYPOCRITE because here I am going on and on about the public expository of private lives but I can't tell you in person that I have such a big problem with the way you are running your life.

Late thesis posters.

/whine

And now that that's all over and done with, I'd like to introduce you to:


----*

Friend A: When you like someone, do all your senses become lost like you don't know what hit you, and your face turns beet red, and that other's face starts to blur before you? Do your words get stuck in your throat and you start forgetting exactly how to breathe?

Friend B: ... It's been a long time since I've heard such pure words. What are you, the Virgin Mary?

Friend A: Well, if she were male and weren't a virgin...

Me: Hafta go.
Ampness: see you.
Me (inside): You wish.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

----*

I am getting bored with my thesis.

*gasp*

We're bored. We're all bored now. But has it ever occurred to you, Wally, that the process that creates this boredom that we see in the world now, may very well be a self-perpetuating, unconscious form of brainwashing created by a world totalitarian government based on money and that all of this is much more dangerous than one thinks, and it's not just a question of individual survival, Wally, but that somebody who's bored is asleep, and somebody who's asleep will not say no?

- My Dinner with Andre

Read it thrice, 'cause I sure as hell had to.

----*

I went jogging yesterday. And.

MY THIGH KARNE ARE KILLING ME.

And my ankles feel like somebody accidentally punched them from the side, which is why I now limp slowly from place to place like an invalid.

Oh the trials and tribulations of trying to get thin.

----*

In class, Kat and Kimbel said that I was probably the strongest drinker among the three of us. Again, inner evil laughter resounded through out my soul. Did you know that the last time I drank beer was even before freshman year started? I have never touched an alcoholic drink in my whole college existence, and yet, AND YET, there is this pervading misconception that I drink and that I drink A LOT.

Where is this coming from, I wonder? 

Today, someone said that I was, and I quote “surprisingly nice.” This made me sort of laugh somewhere in the depths of my soul because there is an irony that exists there. Merce wrote in the AEGIS manual that ‘nice’ should not be used to describe a person in the yearbook, simply because it is generic and boring adjective that has probably been in use since cavemen walked the Earth (“Pork nice. I eat nice pork. NOM NOM NOM NOM"). And yet here I am, being the most boring adjective in the world, and yet it still surprises people when I act that way, as if it is something that hasn’t ever been done before, as if I were doing some strange, alien ritual from the planet Jupiter.

My theory on this is Filipinos aren’t really ‘nice’. We are cliquish, we are clannish, we like to travel in packs to do even the most simple of activities, but when it comes to the sort of thoughtfulness and consideration that is required for real and soul-deep niceness, we are lacking."

----*

Charz: Lookit what I found. Apparently, William Mosley isn't as vanilla as we thought.

An addendum to the motto of my life:

There are many reasons, but there are almost no excuses. Shame is unnecessary, but trying to fix things will always be worth something. 

I really find it hard to NOT fixate on the bad things that happen to me. And the weird thing is, some really good things happened too, but they do not register, for some Godforsaken reason.

Wait. Actually, something is making me cackle right now.

The Nominees for the Candy Teen Blog Awards.

Now, I have absolutely NOTHING against these people.They can write whatever the hell they want and I wouldn't care. But the thing is, there are more thoughtful lolcats on the internet than some of the blurbs I've read. The current Nominee seems to be the exception that proves the rule (and not by much though maybe it's because I'm expecting too much) but the rest seems to be self-centered expository rather than thoughtful analysis.

And the question I would like to ask is: Why on God's green earth should anyone award these people for writing about themselves?

Candy, what is the point of this exercise? Do you want to prove that young girls age 13-25 (it makes me cringe that there are people past their teens writing here) are grammatically proficient and can layout their own blogs (because apparently, there is criteria) in ways that are aesthetically pleasing to the masses? And given this, what then does this say about the people who are actually judging this thing? Is this work that they are proud to announce to others? Does this make them clap their hands and whistle before they go to bed and think that yes, they've done something to make the world a better place?

Just curious. Inquiring minds and all.

ETA:
APPARENTLY IT WAS ALL MY STUPID FAULT THAT THE FORMAT I DID FOR HISTORY WAS WRONG.

There is no facepalm big enough for the utter shame I feel. This requires tableface. *TABLEFACES*

Omg. I nearly read that as tablefeeces.

OMG.

Inner sadness choochooness please go away.

UGH.

*not their real names

Friend:ndi naman ako magugulat if ever
and i won't even care
i just care about myself, trish*, work after grad and nothing else
i don't care kung may mabuntis man sa block natin
or kung biglang pumutok ang transformer ni meralco jane*
basta i'll be the good angelic me na gagraduate this coming march weee!!

Ako:
Bakit Meralco Jane?
Inuubos ba niya lahat ng kuryente sa Maynila?

Friend:
E poste kasi siya e! Posteeeeeeeee!

----*

Tumawa talaga ako ng malakas.

When I get home everyday, there is a part of my mind that recaps and commentates on my entire day in Ateneo . I don't know if it's the same for all of you, but my conscience is like a radio station with my mother as the DJ. It nags and pinpoints and squawks at all the social land mines I stepped on, and it's IN MY HEAD so I can't ever turn it off unless something takes up my full concentration for a long time.

So I'm in the car right, and my head instantly goes into Isa's Top Ten Daily Misfires the second we leave school grounds and I realize...

*facepalms*

I have the tendency dig myself into holes. Holes that are six feet deep.

And now that I finished with today's dose of bitter truth, let us all rejoice because HAHAHA PANIC AT THE DISCO IS COMING TO MANILA.

VIP tickets cost 4000 bucks. My inner child keeps screaming at me to give in and GO, but Anna pointed out this evening "E isang gabi lang naman yan tapos malamang tatlong kanta lang kakantahin niya tapos puro Spongecola na. Kadire."

...

Tru dat.

A Dance With Dragons is coming out, possibly, in September.

Because the Philippines is always delayed AT LEAST half a year when it comes to the release of new books. *grumbles*

Can't somebody just invent small scale teleportation already?

And speaking of books that I want

WHERE THE HELL IS THE MIRADOR?!? Corambis is coming out in 2009 and I had absolutely no luck catching even your shadow in the States, let alone here.

Another book I want but can't get my hands on:

Mothers, Monsters, Whores by Laura Sjoberg and Caron E. Gentry - Just the title makes me want to rub my palms and cackle madly in anticipation. YOU THINK YOU GET IT BUT YOU REALLY DON'T! KAKAKAKAKAKAKA.

----*

I'm not panicking.

And it took me about 6 hours to write (right?) that.

----*

I noticed that I have been a little hyper the past few days and. I just realized how utterly embarrassing I have been acting. So I will calm down.

Isa.

Calm. The Fuck. Down.

Which reminds me, I had a friend who texted me something like this:

im goin to b l8 4 class wat time r u goin to cum?

I was staring at my phone cackling in a very loud and obscene manner after I read that. That is why we do not use the txtspk kiddies. It is a dangerous, dangerous language which will get you raped if you are not careful.

To AMP-ness (No, not you guys from the org),
You sent me a song. A BLEEDING SONG. And I don't even understand the lyrics! What in the world of all romantic (or non-romantic) symbolism DOES THAT MEAN? You stupid, stupid boy. A mute, blind, dumb and deaf boy using smoke signals in Kansas could probably have made his intentions clearer than you just did.

To my will,
You will exercise tomorrow before going to class. I swear it on the invalid boy from Kansas.

To the mosquito in the salas,
You bit me in the fucking ass. I am 5'4" with a miles worth of surface area, and you had to bite the part that was actually wearing two layers of clothing? ARE YOU BLIND?!?

ETA: Apparently, they might as well be.

To my design portfolio,
I will fatten you up, one way or another.

		I will marry Goldmine.
		After a wild honeymoon, We will settle down in Belvedere Tower in our fabulous Shack.
		We will have 8 kid(s) together.
		Our family will zoom around in a Lime Green Camry.
		I will spend my days as a Man-hunter, and live happily ever after.

You are in a mall when the zombies attack. You have:

1. one weapon.
2. one song blasting on the speakers.
3. one famous person to fight alongside you.

1. Flamethrowing guitar. Everything will be covered in awesomesauce and ash.
2. I Only Want You - Eagles of Death Metal. It puts me in the mood.
3. BRONZE-KUN WITH DUAL WIELD LIGHT SABERS. He has experience in fighting teh massive hoards. And also, he burninates bitches.

ETA2:
I have completely changed my mind. My zombie slaying theme song will now be Weeek by NewS. Makes me want to dance til I drop dead.

Prince Caspian is an entertaining movie. If you like boys, the entertainment factor rises exponentially.

BALLS PEOPLE. BALLS.


ETA:
Goddam the tuition fee increase, but as somebody I cannot quite remember pointed out, they do it every year anyway. Still, I feel terrible for my parents. That's a lot of money going out, Jesus Christ on a pogo stick.


ETA3:
Status messages of the people reg-ing since 9 am:

Nikki Lichengyao - aisis burn in hell
Danica Tan - reg = death!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kimbel Sy - I HATE ATENEO OL REG
Kei Evangelista - Chaos.
Jay Cadayona - tanginang aisis
El Gosiengfiao - I GIVE UP.
Gino Caparas - LOL
Bernard Rongcal - BOBONG TUTANG BADING hahaha
Crissey Sy - Dear God please let ma have the slot I want :<*prays for slot*
Sir Ali Figueroa - What would Darkseid do?

And these are the people on my y!m f-list. Yes Solo. The people I fucked list.

ETA4:
My bangs have gotten more attention than anything I have consciously done in the last 4 years. I think the y!m pic is deluding people. I am still fat. The bangs did nothing to change that. When you see me I will still look like the homey you keep in your basement. Which brings me to

ETA5:

ETA6:

ETA7:
This is the last one. Really. I just wanted to know if anybody else was filled with the same unnatural terror I felt when I opened my LJ and saw Kim Chu and Gerald Anderson's face waving cellphones at me. SMART ads? In my woman boner blog? FEAR IT.