27.07.04; Tagaytay Trek; 22:56

This week’s greatest frustration: To watch Imelda. Last week’s greatest eyesore: The taxing sight of my call master’s midsection blinking, climaxing tonight with 74 queue calls. Then I received a text message from redmilk saying: Fucktard. We’re on q at 536. The monetary object I have in abundance for weeks: .25 cents. Bills? Beats me where they have gone. Last dose of endorphins: First frigging Wednesday of the month. Aaaaaaaaaargh! Second-to-the-greatest desire this week: Get rid of the 2 pregnant zits on my chin before raven23‘s beerday.

Dear Niwee,

I’m officially burned out. Worse, my fantasies of having sore throat, being febrile for an entire week, experiencing a leg injury or simply being bedridden are slapped with the mocking daily reminders I’m born to outlast stress. No matter what I do to, for once, violate the “Bawal magkasakit!” ordinance, I’m still standing tall and proud as the last domino.

If I were smart, then I would apply for consecutive vacation leaves, trot an alien spot with my backpack and yell at the top of my lungs. Of course I’m too dull to realize I have that option. Instead, I go on a 1-day break, go long distance and go straight to work. The Greeks owe me a salutation, huh?

Tagaytay hosted the last two blithesome weekends of my sorry, sad life. The first was at leeney_v‘s squatter’s place. 48-Hour Zombie and Karekare, Bondage and A Good Night’s Sleep are two splendid documentations of the madness we’ve had I fear mine would sound like an uninspired secretary’s minutes of the meeting. Three’s a scam, they say.

Last Saturday was my cousin Minelle’s debut in Canyon Woods and therefore my turn to be the 1st candle. Before that was a pool party in Tropical Greens. Her celebration had an exclusive air compared to my own obstreperous orbit. (Wasn’t Reggie fueled to attend my party because of the highly-publicized Cotillion de Pop and 18 Awards? ) Since it’s an 85% family affair, I had my share of Bridget Jones moments. Am assured, receptive, responsive woman of substance.

Like I have always theorized, the pre-party trip promises twice the fun. Couple Tito Sowhat and Tita Tess were showering each other with anguished droplets of saliva; if it hadn’t been for my propinquity, Lola would have lurched forward and initiated threesome. Apathy failed to register on the kids’ excited faces. And it didn’t end there.

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