i wanted to do another one of these things, except this one is less angry and more angsty, because angsty television equals angsty me:

1. you aren't a catastrophe. except maybe i kind of wish you were. that way i would feel better about feeling bad.

2. deal breaker. we don't talk anymore. guess we really aren't friends anymore. funny how promises come true even when they aren't meant. i know you don't have time for your friends, but for some reason you still talk to them. i guess it's different with me. i'm tired of secondhand information about your life. i don't even know you anymore.

3. i actually don't really like you at all. i mean that in the least offensive way. i just hate desperation, the pretensions that cling to you like fake fur on a wet surface, the need for you to know everything you aren't a part of. i hate that. i hate people who try to include themselves in ever possible way, interlope, permeate into every perforated pore. just stop. stop trying, stop being everything i dislike about people.

4. i think you're probably one of my best friends, but you don't understand me at all. all your good for is platitudes, bromide as inert as any. i don't resent you, except maybe i'm tired of pretending in front of you. i don't expect you to think this is you, since you understand so little of me.

5. you know what i'm talking about. i'm talking to you as i type this. hello ♥

6. i'm glad we're okay. (again)

7. i'm tired of being disappointed in people, places, events. it's my fault for building up such astronomic expectations, but i always thought that there'd at least be some exceptions to the great big shuddering failure that is the world. i'm still waiting.

8. welcome, world.

9. i need you back. asap. you were the only thing worthwhile, the only thing worth doing. it's no excuse that i've had no time for you, because you're worth more than that. i'm sorry. i am serious. this is real.

10. you know that song bargain by the who? well you're like the exact opposite of that song. angryface.

for what it's worth, there's still belief. only that it's been severely dented by a bagful of on-target golf clubs and an idiot head in the way.

there's always a first time for the impossible.

YOU HAVE TO GO AND SEE THIS FILM.

it will break you.

OMG (by the way) @ Skins 2x06 !!! Not as "OMG!!!" as Skins 2x05, but Series 2 has completely changed my opinion of Tony and for the better. The bit at the end, when he leaves the room and "doesn't turn back" had me asngkjglafdg-ing!!! WATCH IT NAO PLZ :3

In other news: I went to the park, where the Japanese and American kids outnumbered the Filipinos, to read the newest issue of Nat. Geo. and some Chabon, and I hate Rapidshare more than waiting in line. But it's the same basic principle of hate, really. Apart from that, people who split files into seventeen-minute increments (i.e. fifteen #&*$% rar files!!!) are such asshats. And sendspace.pl is the most shit file sharing service ever. Even Sendspace Original is better, and I despise Sendspace's ridiculous download limits. No, Mediafire for the win forever. I will burn the world down if this stupid file thing wasn't worth it.

I hate video compilations. I hate them.

DB7 — if you want a download to the episode, just tell me bb ;-D

edit:

re: previews for 2x07 — well, generally the entire show: I LOVE CHRIS MILES. HE MAKES THE SHOW.

edit:

YOU KNOW WHAT'S THE ABSOLUTE PITS? BEING 89% and 20% INTO TWO DOWNLOADS AND YOUR MOTHEREFFERING (to quote earl hefner) LAPTOP MOTHEREFFING DIES. I HATE YOU. JUDGE PETE HATES YOU. *strangles mia battery pack*

( we wear the same clothes, 'cause we feel the same )

So, how have you all been?

edit:

YES THANK YOU MR. MCBRIDE

edit the second:

I just listened to the most disturbing podcast today. The man said that John Terry resembled a truck-towing lesbian and called Carlos Tevez (not that Carlos Tevez; the less juicy once) a hybrid between a man and an animal. The whole thing was just insanely uncomfortable.

FACT: I only watch Harry Potter 4 for the credits. And I stay right until the end.

holy shit, happy birthday macca ♥

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BEA CRISOLOGO!!!
my love for you is as fresh as the atacama is dry, as warm as a can of antifreeze, and as valid as pluto's planetary status. i love you so much as too overlook matters of factuality and chronology. you, my (perhaps one true) alphabetical-order friend, deserve all the plaudits and wreaths of laurel on this special, gargantuan day. do not hate me for my foreordained consideration, my premature adulation for your singular cheerleading greatness. i look forward to seeing you monday, donning laundry white gowns and your almost certain scowl at my appearance, but i will be noticeably tight-lipped amidst the peal of (erroneous, i say!) well-wishes. I LOVE Y♥UUUU.

And: Happy birthday to Nina: The best debate partner ever ♥

(dear friends, please link this post to our Dear Friend bea, as i am incapable of going online/charging my mobile/giving a damn. i will pay you handsomely in math analogies and half-meant, half-assed half-hugs. thanks bbs)

all real peoplz. each number is an inside joke, therefore obvious. (i hate how real people take up all my time)

( i want to be the fan maker's daughter )

cue panic mode in t-minus ten, nine, eight, seven...

1. Spent the day intoxicated with the company of popgoesbidin: Laughing until we became a spectacle, wasting time until there was only more time to be had, searching for t-shirts in office supply stores and trying to fill a bag of fifty pesos. I kept insisting all the while that we would cease to be friends before her next birthday came (this is an extension of the primary deadline I had set, which was my birthday, my real one), which would have saved me the trouble of having to buy her a gift. She helped me pick up a birthday present for cartoonband_aid which will break my heart if she does not enjoy it.

2. Moped. Sighed. Lamented. Moped.

( 3. Fell ardently, unfailingly, unflatteringly in love. Got in the back of a van and forced myself into a holiday. )

Richard Griffiths' immense stature was due to childhood radiation therapy. Don't hate.

[mood| see 2.]
[music| our song]

I spent the day ostracized from the cyberworld and all it took (seemingly) was to move my laptop a few inches to the right. FFS. WiFi is such a petty, picky bitch.

             ...Let's reminisce about those days of of 100Mbps and unchewed mouse roller balls.

Having spent the weekend not going to Batangas and not going to the soirée and very much not home bound (aside from said cyberworld ostracism), this is the result: angry rant while my sneeze battered head is being filled with monosyllabic Chinese.

I want to be treated with pictures of pretty Caucasians and exotic South Americans (hold the attached mockery). All of which will be seventeen, therefore too old. HOW WILL I SURVIVE WHEN PEOPLE ARE HERE (to stay). I AM TERRIBLE WITH PEOPLE y/y. I DON'T KNOW THOSE STYLISH HAUNTS, THOSE BANGING CLUBS, AND STONER SPOTS. WHAT DO I DO.

I am going to build a hermitage of sheep vellum and fast-drying ink. God knows I want my hands to stay white at the end of all this.

Uncle Monty ≥ a.k.a. Hector > Uncle Vernon

Trufax.

             ±Hold on. Don't let your imagination run away with you.

                           ± Imagination? I just finished fighting off a naked man!

"Look at that, look at that. 'Accident black spot.' These aren't accidents. They're throwing themselves into the road, gladly. Throwing themselves into the road to escape all this hideousness. Throw yourself into the road, darling, you haven't got a chance!"

Surgery.

But. Jarvis ♥.

( words are ineffective, so why do we keep trying )








I love you, Steven Gerrard. No joke. Always. And this devotion is ridiculous.

( the keyword sadness )

Congratulations, Milan. If it was anyone else, I think I'd feel worse.

[mood| similar to this]
[music| Stereophonics-- Dakota]

OH. GOD. The Inquirer is a useless piece of--

I can only hope that this single-minded persistence will resurface by the time school starts again. T__T

My brain is dead.

( younghusband. both of them. )


Please do not tell Kuya Tommy.

[mood|disgusted with self]
[music| Pulp-- Pink Glove]

( Do you know how fantastic you are? )

Apart from perusing YouTube's indelible, LQ stock of music videos and listening to monochromatic albums and unrecorded brilliance-- there's this:


( it's okay to grow up, just never grow old )

This = THIS

ftwwtf?

And.

He ♥'s them.

AND.

Does M. Owen look like T. Rosicky?

All the x-overs destroy my [--credibility--]

Is currently nursing a Babel-induced headache. And the connate desire to start wrangling chickens. Go figure, media child.

( book list thinggur )

Everyone LOVES Steven Gerrard. Srsly. Even you can't deny it.

Where is that damned article about Rooney wanting Gerrard for his birthday?

=Does god exist?
I'm far too provincial to answer that question.
^why steven is the best name ever.^

No. No more, alright? No more flippy hair. Gyrating. Long overcoats and Norwegian boybands. Unless you want to spend all your nights keeping Steven Patrick M. Saunders in a headlock. It's red all the way. Not red and white. Just red. Real red. Red like shaved heads bad posture, but great form.

Yes. Life is this uneventful that this would depress me the most. That and post-Christmas earthquakes. So, maybe not. But most probably yes.

It's been a horrible week for football. 4-1? 4-1? Depressing, really. But I'm not as beaten up about it as, let's say-- wait, let's not say. They did have the advantage though. And there were injuries. And hardly any support from home.

Brother and Father have already taken the time to mock me. Your turn?

I don't even want to talk about it. But I'll take your insults, and arrogance and just glare at you when I see you in person.

Besides, you aren't even a real Arsenal fan. You aren't. Can't even see how they could possibly mean anything to you. You were maybe at a crossroads before, deciding between red and that (classier) shade of maroon, but now you think you've made your mind up and still it wanders. It shouldn't. You aren't an Arsenal fan. Nick Hornby's an Arsenal fan. You aren't. Get it through your head.

I hate Arsenal. I do. I do. The Englishmen exodus was really funny at first, but now it all just seems pathetic. I remember last year, sitting around a dining table in some Spanish restaurant (or is it just restaurant) in Madrid, watching Arsenal-Villareal. I was rooting for Arsenal. And Arsenal won. I cheered loudly in a restaurant filled with Spanish people. God. And then Champions' League final. I found out in England, on a taxi ride from Heathrow. I was depressed for a brief period.

No more. None. None whatsoever. I hate Arsenal. Hate. Because I'm not mature enough to feel anything else. Hate.

A while ago-- when the internet was down, my torrents wouldn't download, and there was this massive pile of homework on my desk-- I thought that the only thing that could cheer me up was Spanish football, gay/kiddy pens that glow and have fur, orange highlighters, cartoonband_aid, sudoku, coffee table books, sepsis, and Oskar Schnell. And the possibility of watching Eragon with Lara et al. on Friday.

Hm.

I do love Valencia. David Villa is just inestimable amounts of awesome. Joaquin is less despicable than C-Ron, and is, in fact, quite likable. Mori-- dude, Mori. And Silva's short. I can afford to adore them, since, you know.

We need an inspirational front line. That's it. With Crouch as the punchline to every joke and with God fading fast, we need new blood, I think, someone with an already impressive résumé. Maybe Villa, maybe. How can we compete with stars like Rooney, Saha, Ole, Drogba, Sheva (lolz), Henry, and v. Persie with a bean pole? We could. We can. But we aren't at the moment.

( you'd expect this and more )

Let's stop hating people, alright? Because you have to live with people. Unless I find my own hermitage. Complete with all necessary amenities 'nthensum.'

My view is great. You can see the bottom of everything. The surface, though, a bit more elusive. I speak very literally.

Andie, watch a movie with us. Mathay too, if you feel like it.

Synthesis (if you get this, I'll adore you for life):

(Eric C: popped; Craig B.: ________)

( see )

93.2%. Some metaphysical being up there, deified through word of mouth, wants me to cry. It might work, if my eyes were moist enough. They're so dry right now that cracking them an inch wider (would be impossible) would make my lids fall off.

Chay is the Ibong Adarna. Fo' Sho'. Eragon is a waste. A slot for something at the very least more relevant to exist.

Years, decades ago. John Lennon asked a friend a very important question.

( How do you sleep at night )

My answer?

I don't.

[mood| my eyes are crummy and sepsis is a must]

Edit 13/01/07:

Tacky as it is. Finally 100%. Those seven days, that unparalleled frustration and denouncing technology-- all totally worth it.

New obsession does not bode well with sanity. Does not bode well at all.

Oh yeah. Stuff happened in the weekend.

Maybe, if I lived in a different time zone, the start of '07 would have been more enjoyable.

I spent the majority of the first moments of the new year unimpressed and scared for my pores, which is probably a bad sign. There was also much bouncing and yelling 'Happy New Year,' and 'Go'bless' but it was done satirically-- which wasn't very nice of me, I'll admit.

Still. A great start to the new year. A three-nil victory against Bolton-- tasty. Crouchy, Stevie G, and Kuyt (who is yet to be nicknamed appropriately) on the scoreboard. Clean sheets make me dance inside. One day, I'll be there.

Guh. And I have soap in my nose.

But watching Reading bitch slap West Ham was so tasty (my favorite adjective of the new year, because I'm irrationally fond of fat, prepubescent, toon boys). I quite like Reading, I think. Shame that they lost their previous game.

( Let's all meet up in the year 1995 )

So. This the last night I have. Spend it well would mean wasting it. If everything goes according to plan, that is.

( a given-- not unlike the keeper )

I think I need to be more optimistic. To stop assuming the worst in people, in situations and I need to be more forgiving. Seriously though, these epiphanies are all well and good, but what happens after realization?

Relapse.

( jocked, because I like that word )

Great start to the new year. A win. An absolute demolishing. And a draw (sorry suffraget_city. But isn't it strange how we're on such amiable terms?). The rest, I don't care about.

I will be better.

edit 03/01/07:

OMGz. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOLKIEN. ILU.

edit in lieu of recent happenings:

Dude, my first troll! Awesome! I'm totally making it to the top one day.

edit 04/01/07:

Okay. So. Classic Liverpool is ♥. Srsly. Macca and Rushie and God and Colly-poo and Barnesy. Guh. I love them more, sometimes, I think.

And Classic Arsenal is gay-er than ever. And they're big on interracial love, which is fab. How can one possibly hate the Gunners? With Henry's gyrating and the irrational fondness Fabregas has for yellow cards.

On that note. Henry's back.

And strangely, I'm not worried.

[music| The Decemberists-- The Legionnaire's Lament]

I am a sucker for sexy calves and social realism. The two together would be something poignantly impossible.

Like foolishly egoistic integrity and loyalty. Why can't all men be Howard Roark? I suppose that's why I admire one club men. It takes a special kind of devotion to promise yourself to the same set of people who could easily be change from chanting your name in reverent adoration to combining it with various death threats and rhyming it with obscenities. Maldini, Raul, Carra, Gary Neville et al., Totti, Guti...♥

Not that they're the most loyal people, necessarily. It just proves that they have longevity and staying power-- that they haven't sickened of the same crowd, the same expectations or the lack, thereof. The most faithful sons can be turned away by a slap on the mouth or the temptation of a fatter paycheck-- a boot to the head if you're especially unlucky.

Kaka fended off the call of Real Madrid to stay at a club that's currently cruising towards the relegation zone. John Terry may have had a brief stint with Nottingham Forest, but he is Chelsea-- which is as disgusting as it sounds. Torsten tried out Bayern-- who knows what... or who for, but he returned to where he belongs, even after a victorious season--Bremen. They either come back as prodigal sons, welcomed but stained forever, or establish themselves firmly into their new teams, which become family and into club history, which becomes home. Still, you can't help but wonder if they regret how history played itself out and where they are today.

And I'm sure that when David Beckham bleeds, there's a hundred times more Red than there is White.

Cells, I mean.

As I sit here, professing my undying love for my bathrobe-- I intend to die wrapped in its soft embrace, to be buried in its velvety warmth and to decay with it-- and tending to my skinned, battered, and waxed knees, I find myself requiring a distraction that will pull back whatever hairs of sanity it can paw at.

( a few thoughts )

I spent the past few weeks days discussing the merits of different OTP combinations with my brother (our conversations usually center on football and music Morrissey) and suffraget_city. Neither of them were sufficiently inclined to listen. Midfielder/Midfielder and Striker/Midfielder are my favorite combinations, I think. Defender/Defender just doesn’t do it for me.

However, that's another discussion for another blog entry, because--oii, this is prolonged agony.

( a proper label for a proper meme )

This post pwns my brain.

cartoonband_aid, suffraget_city, and cielo_sprinter were all waiting for this to be posted. I hope it disappoints. I love you all. Oodles.

( edit--for a secret or several )


[mood| accomplished]
[music| Pulp-- Like a Friend]