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My mom can probably attest to the fact that I write better than I can walk or talk. As a child I ran into walls and fell into pits; as a teenager I mouthed obscenities that made my former-frat leader dad shrink in horror and wish that he had been a better son to his parents when he was my age. Put a pen into my hand or a keyboard at my fingertips, however, and I am gold. Ever since I learned how to physically write, I knew there was nothing else I wanted to do in my life but that. Oh, the naivety of the young! I was two years old then, and had no clue that nineteen years later, writing is exactly what I would end up doing.

And I’m starting to hate it.

Okay, hate is a strong word. I don’t hate writing. How can I hate it when it’s the only constant thing in my life? Friends disappear and reappear, boys are a dime a dozen, but writing has always served as my comfort zone, especially when things turn shitty. Of course, that was before I started writing in a sweatshop. When you’re forced to churn out over three thousand words a day for a living on the most random, obscure topics in the world, it zaps your imagination dryer than an eighty-year old lady’s vagina when it comes into contact with a shriveled, eighty-year old penis. There are days when I feel like stabbing people with a blunt object if I have to write another word again. Today is one of those days. (Don’t ask me why I’m still typing away.)

I’m going through a really bad burnout at the moment and I’ve been giving some thought into going for a career that doesn’t involve writing a single word. So far, I’ve come up with the following options:

Why be the underpaid writer churning out the dialogue for TV shows, soaps, and movies, when I can be the one saying them instead? Unfortunately, I wouldn’t last a day in Philippine show business. Not only do I have a lot flesh attached to my bones; I know for a fact that I’m not conventionally pretty. Oh, and my Tagalog sucks harder than a gay man behind a glory hole. Speaking in my “burgis twang” is not exactly how I’d like to entertain people.

Strippers and bar girls earn more than I do in one evening, which makes this career path very very tempting. After giving it more thought, however, it’s highly unlikely that anyone will see me humping a pole at Quezon Ave. Sry gais. It’s not the gyrating for an audience of potbellied, middle-aged men that turns me off (which is not to say that that’s my kink, either). I have flat feet and can’t walk for shit in heels. Also, I wouldn’t survive in an environment of female coworkers. Do you have any idea how catty, vicious, and sneaky women can get? I’ve heard stories of bar girls beating up fellow bar girls until they end up close to death in the ICU. Working as a stripper will be like high school again except this time, we have murder weapons in the form of stilettos and thong panties. Life is nasty, brutish, and short, and I don’t what my life to get nastier, brutisher, and shorter with a job where I could get seriously maimed.

A funeral director. Why not? Well okay, why not is because the embalming process involves draining out the corpse’s blood and sometimes stuffing cotton balls up anuses. Handling dead bodies aside, I can’t even go to a wake without getting philosophical about life and death. So, no thanks.

Apparently, you can earn six figures a month just by telling people how to run their lives. Hmm, I could be a life coach. I mean I’ve already got some experience under my belt, what with all the emotional retards I tried to save during those stupid moments where my messianic complex kicked in. Not to mention all the time I spend listening to girl friends bitch about the same old boy or romantic problem over and over and over again. Did I mention that the emotional retards are still emotional retards? And that my girl friends are still crying over the same boys? I thought so.

I’m a short Asian female and from a third world country so I think I have all the qualifications I need to be a mail-order bride and snag me a rich white guy from teh first world. Ah, I can see it now - a life of indolence and luxury, a closet full of designer clothes, a crack pipe in my dresser drawer because what else am I going to do with all that time and money? Somebody please shoot me for considering this. It’s not even an actual career.

Meh. I don’t feel like going to work tomorrow. Or ever.

I’m no stranger to strange coincidences but I got curveballed by one of the strangest coincidences early this week. While I was on my way out the office for a cigarette break Monday morning, Kristel ran into me with arms wide flailing.

“Lauren! Your Asshole Ex’s current girlfriend is right outside the office!”

I was still reeling from the what-the-fuckness of her statement when I found myself getting ushered out the door to greet the Current Girlfriend. Since I didn’t have enough time to prepare myself, I think I walked out with a smile that was a lot wider than I’d like. Somehow, we (the Current Girlfriend, the Ex-Girlfriend, and Kristel, who technically is also the Current Girlfriend’s Ex-Girlfriend - but that’s a twisted story for another time) ended up having a cigarette break together. In a tone that I hope didn’t sound like I was in any way threatened, ruffled, or shocked that she of all people was waiting outside the office door, I asked the Current Girlfriend what she was doing here. The Current Girlfriend then told me that she a) graduated this month, b) needs a job ASAP, c) is applying for a writing position at our company.

Gee, what are the chances of that?

A few hours later, my Project Manager walked into my cubicle and asked me to give a character reference for the Current Girlfriend, seeing as we graduated from the same university. “You can’t be serious!” I sputtered. Unfortunately, he was. See, his asking me to give a character reference for an applicant means that the applicant is a candidate for our team. In the cubicle to my right, I heard Kristel laughing hysterically.

Now, any other Ex-Girlfriend who were in my position would have automatically slandered the Current Girlfriend’s character. But me, I’m nice and I’m fair. So I give her a glowing, non-bullshit recommendation because her horrible taste in men doesn’t change the fact that she’s still a good writer and a friend.

The next day, my Project Manager informed me that the Current Girlfriend is to be our new teammate.

The average Ex-Girlfriend would have defenestrated herself from the fifth floor upon finding out that she’ll be working in the same team with the current girl of a former love. I’m no average Ex-Girlfriend though. I really am cool with the Current Girlfriend and I have absolutely no issues with her. I just want to kill her boyfriend, that’s all.

(Well okay, that and I find it kind of creepy that she has now acquired his mannerisms and speech patterns. It’s like watching a female version of the ex, minus the condescension and the arrogance. Funny how the dead come back to life in perverse reincarnations.)

The thing is, my break-up with the Asshole Ex was quite amicable. We managed to stay really good friends for several weeks and I do feel a bit sorry that our friendship has been replaced by this unsnuffable hatred I have for him. You see, he was ten times nicer to me when we were friends than he ever was while he was my boyfriend. Unfortunately, assholes will always be assholes, and he did a very asshole thing that made me realize two things:

a) my ex is full of shit
b) up until the moment I broke up with him, I spent the last two and a half years of my life allowing him to manipulate me and take over my life

Believe it or not, I’m a very forgiving person. I’m told that I can be frightening when I’m angry, but it doesn’t take me long to get over my anger and forgive the bastard who pissed me off. Some people, unfortunately, do things that I simply can’t forgive. These people are usually sent off to what I call the Realm of Indifference, a place in my selective memory where they’re never given a second thought, except for when I tell stories about the WTF things they did to me. The Asshole Ex, however, is an entirely different case. It’s been a year since I dumped everything he ever gave me in front of his house (with his posse watching the drama unfold because I interrupted their group jerk-off session when I called him to say that I was coming over NOW and you better come out and get your fucking stuff). Until today, the mere mention of his name is enough to make my blood boil.

I hate that I care enough about him to hate him this much.

What’s going to make this whole work situation very awkward for me is this. Assuming that my ex is still the same person, it’s likely that he will stay within the area to wait for the Current Girlfriend to get out from work. I haven’t seen nor spoken to him since the drama outside his house, and I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I run into him unexpectedly. So far, my options are to:

a) get creative with my shoelaces
b) hurl a torrent of verbal abuse at him
c) punch him with my killer deadly girly punch
d) push him into the swimming pool and watch him flail because he can’t swim

I have a feeling that the only way my ex can move on to the Realm of Indifference is if I ever tell him to his face that I hate his fucking guts and that while I don’t regret our relationship, I do regret not breaking up with him sooner. Unfortunately, my ex is an asshole and I bet if I tried to sit him down and talk to him about this, he’d probably walk away mid-sentence. Or raise an eyebrow in the middle of my speech and ask me if I’m done yet. If he even chooses to see me. My ex is big on cutting ties with his past and pretending that his previous girlfriends never existed. Too bad for him that this particular ex-girlfriend is making noise on the intarwebz and will be working with his girlfriend soon.

Chances are, if I do ever get around to talking to him, I’ll just freeze up the way I always do in confrontations and never get to say a fucking word. Then he’ll walk away laughing and tell his friends that his ex-girlfriend is a total psycho. Not that they don’t already think that.

My life sucks.

Word has reached me that I completely punked out after breaking up with my ex sometime last year. I guess I got so used to him keeping me from having my own friends and forbidding me to live my own life that my world completely shattered when I finally dumped his possessive ass. But since I didn’t really have any friends when I walked away from my two year prison sentence relationship, I turned to the cool kids and tried my damned hardest to fit into the scene. Hence the piercings, the dyed bangs, the weird haircut, && the band.

Didant you know? The way I am now is me coping with an empty, sorry life without my ex.

Just can’t function no more

I thought I’d celebrate Blog Action Day by giving the world a little more than an environmental message. This entry is a guide on how to achieve the uber-hip scenester look should you ever find yourself in my situation. If you can’t snort coke && party with the cool kids, you can at least look like you do because you’re s0o0o0 heartbroken.

Get busy living or get busy dying

Recycling is a hardcore thing that everyone, scenester-wannabes or not, can do to help save the environment. Reusing old things prevents wasting useful materials, cuts down on the consumption of our dwindling raw materials, && reduces energy usage. I personally do my share of recycling by shopping at thrift stores, or as we call it in the Philippines, ukay-ukay. Not only do I get to save these awesome finds && give them a better home in my overstuffed closet. I get to assert the fact that I am indie && non-conformist by refusing to buy clothes where normal people get their stuff.

Don’t you know who I think I am?

You’d be amazed at all the chic, glamorous finds you can grab from your neighborhood ukay-ukay. Ukay-ukay stores are usually located on nondescript streets and dingy old buildings. They may look dusty && dirty on the outside, but believe me they are treasure troves of hoodies, leather boots, calf-high sneakers, baggy tops, skinny jeans, && black dresses. My favorite haunts are the ones in Cubao && across the street from Robinson’s Galleria Ortigas. But unless you’re a good friend, I’m not about to reveal their exact location because I don’t want everybody to start shopping there && become as cool as me. Sry gais.

The key to putting together a genuine scenester outfit is to dress like you don’t give a shit about what people will think of your fashion sense (or lack thereof). Throw together pieces with loud patterns && behave like anyone who isn’t wearing mismatched clothing is a disgrace to the fashion gods (see above). Wear tops at least two sizes too big for you so that it looks like you’re wearing a sack. It will also help if you cover your mane with hair wax so you achieve the look of a teenage junkie who hasn’t seen a shower in days. Trust me, resembling a hobo will give you that “I’m cooler than you k?” vibe. Only those who are born with style have enough confidence to go against the grain && look like a calculated mess.

A beautiful girl can make you dizzy

See what I did there? Animal-print clothes are so 80’s && this country doesn’t have the right climate for boots - but that’s precisely why I chose to put that outfit together. I’m making a statement here by refusing to wear what everyone else is wearing. Believe it or not, that whole outfit cost me less than a thousand bucks!

Boots - I can’t remember how much I got them for because I’ve owned this pair since high school. I’m guessing it only cost me around 400, 500 pesos.
Shorts - 100 pesos
Black tank top - 50 pesos
Leopard-print hoodie - 100 pesos
Shades - 50 pesos
Looking totally rad && unlike everybody else - priceless

Shopping at ukay-ukay stores is the only way you can reduce waste generation while simultaneously working on your hxc (hardcore) image. Nothing screams arty rebel like odd pieces of worn-out clothing strategically put together to create a look that’s part-grunge, part-luxxe, part-heroin chic. Make sure you ask your friends to take tons of pictures of yourself thrashing around at a party with a bottle of beer on one hand a lit cigarette on the other. So when your ex finally sees you looking oh so hot && oh so scene on the intarwebz, his messiah complex will kick in && he’ll try to find a way to save you before you spiral out of control. Then you can have the pleasure of walking away from him a second time!

thx 4 tha mmrs