Friday, November 27, 2009

The worst Catholic wedding (by the Devilish Priest)

Photobucket

I used to be a Catholic, but the priests' hypocrisy and unrelenting preachings put me aloof in the church. I am still a Christian, despite points in time when I became Atheist then an Agnostic.

On November 21, 2009, the fine rain poured over the wedding bouquet of roses I arranged myself. Looking at the drops of rain, a desire arose the wedding mass wouldn't take minutes as much as the drops. I arrived 6:15 a.m. at San Isidro Labrador Parish Church, Digos City. I knew the wedding starts at 6 a.m. sharp. I ran towards the bride and groom on the kneeling bench. Something bothered me. It was the austere priest officiating the wedding—it was his dark aura. I handed the bouquet to the bride, pinned the corsage to the groom, and took picture. Did all these whilst the priest read from a book in his hands, I was not listening then.

Coming up with better photo shoots of the couple, I sat on the pews and a friend told me how the poor couple got bad lucks. In November 20, the couple had rehearsal for this mass wedding and was told to appear in the church at exactly 5:30 a.m. Mass wedding means you pay cheaper than a special wedding-it's like a wedding for the lower class and the middle class, respectively. Fortunately, no other couple have registered for the day. It seemed like a special wedding then.

The mass started at exactly 6, without the couple. The couple arrived at 6:05 a.m. The cruel nun brutally told them she would have the wedding cancelled. The priest stopped when he saw them, the nun motioned them to walk in the aisle. Anxiously, the couple galloped along the aisle. The bride didn't have chance to spread the bottom of her gown.

Having been agitated, the groom failed to remember when to say 'yes Father' and 'I do'. "Tubaga na ko ug Oo Father, dugaya nimo mutubag oi." The priest mumbled. (Say yes now, what's taking you so long)

Three fine lines were now visible over his eyebrows. His aura had turned to devilishly black. In one of his really unforgettable and historical preachings, he remarked to couple's being late, "May pa ang patay, naka make up daan, ang kaslunon maligo pa, mag make up pa." (Perhaps a made up dead man is better than a newly wed who is yet to wash and put make up on) Not a good joke for a wedding. The priest never smile. After the mass, he never appeared again. No felicitation from the "officiating Catholic priest." I still waited for the priest, hoping he's kind enough to shake hands with the newly weds. The atmosphere went awkward, people stared blankly and endlessly. So I told the groom to kiss the bride.

I got really disappointed (again) with his attitude. I remember P. Coelho's The Devil and Miss Prym. He wrote that everyone is either good or bad, it's just a matter of choosing between doing good or bad. In this wedding, the priest chose to be bad, and did bad things—this made him a Devilish Priest. Everyone turned into a devil that day though. The nun, the guests, every one. After the mass, the people despised the priest, shared hateful statements towards him. The evil dispersed as quick as a fire. Everyone became devils.

Including me. But the priest started it.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

I started to write and never stop

I started to write something about the extremely, awfully smelly toilet in Davao City's Bus terminal but I got lost. I suddenly didn't know how to end it after putting on four paragraphs. A bit confused, if the story's stupid, or not interesting, or too negative. I'm too hesitant in posting negative stories. I just realized that my previous posts were mostly negative. I'm gonna shift to the other side a bit, intermittently. Life has been so like Garfield's lately. Procrastination becomes a habit which I have to deal with urgently. Got excited when I signed up for Postcrossing but someone took it negatively so I removed my account. I joined it because I saw the members received postcards from anybody randomly, and with postage stamps (OMG!). I perfectly love snail mail, the smell of the envelope, the seal, and the stamps. I used to be a philatelist.

The world is beautiful indeed. With or without postcards.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Rust and horn


I've been fascinated with anything that has rust in it. Got collection of 'rust' photos here. It has been very hot, the climate's extremely on a very high degree whilst the north has been flooded like the incoming movie 2012. Been sleeping unusually early for 2 nights, the weather's draining my energy. A bit of my zest is plummeting, making sleep my excuse to face reality. It could be the weather or the compromised 'zest'.

I received the College and Association of Registered Nurses of Alberta's (CARNA)reply to my application for registration. The letter said I need to undergo an substantially equivalent competency (SEC) assessment in Alberta, Canada which may last for 3 days to 1 week. I checked www.cic.gc.ca and checked info regarding temporary resident visa or known as the tourist visa in the Philippines since I can't acquire a working visa with the CARNA's condition. After a thorough research, I found out that as a holder of a temporary visa, you may apply for a working right there in Canada. Such a good news, huh.

To be sure, I emailed the Canadian embassy in Manila. I was told that I have to come back to the Philippines should I wish to obtain working visa. What happened to my research? So a Filipino holder of a TRV (temporary resident visa) has a different policies compared to a holder from a, should I say, developed countries, duh.

This rule is F-U-C-K! Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Less is More

Customized my blog today. This Minima template used to be my first template when I first learned about Blogger. I used Black Minima then. I so love it this time. One blogger said "Less is more." The banner, the white background, the smaller fonts. Found some really great blogs (see my blog lists) and they did put into reality some of the fantasies I have had. Bellissima!

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Pharrell Williams' Quote


A fresh genius. This man's going to be really, really big and unforgettably iconic in the fashion industry. One can turn his imagination into a reality when one really wants to- as he said for his Papermag interview. I've been pushing myself to put all the crazy but beautiful things running in my mind.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Coco Chanel



I learned how Coco Chanel got the name Coco through Camilla Morton's A Year in High Heels. Got interested, checked on the Wikipedia and her story's so different from what I assumed was beautiful and perfectly flawless. Audrey's perfect for this role. Can't wait to see the movie. I'm gonna have my first Chanel bag in less than 12 months.

^_^

Friday, August 21, 2009

Good Morning 'Doctor-Looking' Biatch!



Had a meeting with the boss and the co-workers. Did an impromptu reporting of penalties and sanctions policies with humor that made everyone burst into laughter. The world seemed warm and happy not until the Biatch (bitch) arrived. I was discussing about courtesy of staff towards the officers and doctors, and sanctions if discourtesy happened. The Biatch, with about 3 lines between his brows, addressed his so-kinda-Biatch statements:

'...I have a comment regarding courtesy policy.
You are not courteous here...
In bigger hospital, even though they don't recognize someone as a doctor, they'd
still greet anyone as long as he's doctor-looking. And that's from a bigger
hospital, you're just a primary hospital here. Some of you here act like you are
somebody great or rich.'


Adjective for the year 2009 - doctor-looking. And yes, I am really somebody. I believe I am a great person.

The hospital where my mother worked, used to be my playground when I was a kid. Seeing how stiff the doctors were, nurses treated doctors like eminent one. This is the era of the stiffly-starched nursing gown.

That's so 2000 and late, I'm so 3008.

Those days are gone my dear Biatch. Why would anyone greet you when all we see are your:
1. vertical lines between your brows
2. horizontal lines above the vertical lines between your brows
3. frowning face
4. dark aura

You do not solicit recognition. You are so hungry for respect. You do not ask for it, you earn it. You do not get courtesy from the people? Then maybe it's time you assess yourself. I will never ever greet you my dear Biatch, not unless you greet me first. I am more doctor-looking than you are. You actually look like a 15-days vocational course instructor. And your legs are too short, better lose some weight my dear hungry doctor-looking fellow.

My words are mean I know, you deserve worse.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

La la la la la la



I so love this guy. Really, really good at music, and business too.

My Drive Thru



My Drive Thru, a super cool, party song by Pharrell Williams, Julian Casablancas (Strokes) and Santogold.

I want you, if you want me to...

No Title

Getting up at six in the morning, sipping on a coffee with cigarette, churning what's on table for breakfast, and sipping coffee again while puffing on my third stick of Marlboro menthol while sitting in the powder blue toilet seat. And trying to finish the fourth stick because taking a shower. That is the usual chore whenever I'm on a 7 a.m. shift at work. Same routine when I am on a 3 p.m. or evening shift. A bit boring. No. Extremely boring.

Checking emails, clicking on my bookmarked CARNA site for updates regarding my desire to get a temporary Canadian license. No updates or any sort of changes from June 2009 up to present. A bit boring, isn't it? It is really boring.

How do I make my life less ordinary? That I do not know.

Work. Sleep. Email. Coffee. Cigarette. Work. Coffee...

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Fuck!

Fuck!!!

It's all coming back to me


I helped anybody without hesitation. I've been so good at helping other people, I can not even help myself as quick as I did with people. I have asked a huge favor and I have to be dealt with like I'm applying for a huge loan from the World Bank, reminding of my carefree lifestyle, and sorts of irresponsibilities.

It's all coming back to me now.

I have planned a beautiful life for everybody, for free. I do not deserved to be treated this way. I am not stiff. Never.

Seeking for a brand new day. Life too harsh lately.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

I am not a bangus


How do I start writing when my mind isn't speaking. But feels an urge to write something. Hardest part of writing- the beginning.

Moving my phalanges,
tapping finger tips
like pressing on a piano's keyboard.
The red felt hammer,
that smells like vintage book in the library,
striking steel strings.
Strings vibrate at resonant frequency,
like my mind filled with unspoken words.

Been as good as an aging man with a sedentary lifestyle for a month or so, except that I go to gym on a regular basis. Sometimes when you're too free, you find yourself into reveries. Ideas float in mind. Longing to begin things out. Things you'd think could make life a better one. But I have left behind a few beginnings- unfinished.

I quit the volunteer job. Yuppies, stupids and ugly faces in the workplace were too much for me. Filled a nasogastric tube with air repeatedly, I had been into a trance. The school I've been working with for almost seven years is closing.

'Improve your social skills', a suggestion I got, with four other ears hearing it aside from my big ones. I did pull the corners of my mouth to appear fine with what I see but it's difficult to hide your soul. A partner can see your smirking fucking soul. I am not a bangus. To love someone, you get stupid and really selfishly stupid. You get nonsensically sensitive, because you are in love and selfish. And I was really stupid, bangus, selfish, and a fucking stupid that night. The heart dictated the actions, will clasp it the next time around and silently whisper- hush little bird, and sleep, please don't feel a thing because you get stupid if you do.

It's been a perfect annoying summer. As annoying as my friend reminding of my loan. I held my breath this morning before getting up in bed. But it's hard to stop breathing, very exhausting. Too crazy, getting stupid first thing in the morning. But asphyxiation can be as satisfying as Nagisa Oshima's In the Realm of the Senses.

Friday, January 30, 2009

Birthday boy



From left to right: grilled pork and fish; raw milk fish (kinilaw na bangus) with vinegar, cucumber and coconut milk; and sauteed prawns with real pineapple.


It's my **th birthday. Had a perfect lunch as usual (everything seems perfect with my perfect family). Went to the market in the morning, pressed about 10 kinds of fish with my pointing finger, hoping chances to land on firm ones. Not really good in identifying a real fresh fish but I rely on my perfect instincts. Another self-proclaimed crazy perfect talent. Bought three kinds of really big, pricey fishes. White squids, as big as my forearm, caught my eyes. Pressed the squids still with my index finger, unbeknownst to the woman selling them. I purchased one rounded and firm squid with eyeballs like they had exopthalmus. My brother, the Gourmet number 2, told me that a flattened squid is not fresh. Got astonished at the site of six huge prawns immersed in a basin half-filled with water. Bought all of them.

At lunch, we had ice-cold beer, and the foods were placed over dishes covered with banana leaf. A perfect presentation. Courtesy of Gourmet number 2.



Fifty People, One Question: London from Crush + Lovely on Vimeo.

Love this video so much. Goosebumps, euphoria, this really moves me. When I was 16 years old, I saw the movie Reality Bites. That changed some of my wishes in life. When Winona Ryder and Ethan Hawke had coffee and a really nice conversation in Central Park New York, I told my friends, "When I get to New York, I'd go to Central Park on a summer or spring season, sit on the bench with my legs crossed, sip a $1 coffee like Winona's and read a newspaper." (I was already smoking then in high school; I'd had Philip Morris and Hope Menthol 100s interchangeably, not really knowing the difference) But right now, I really don't know where would I want to be when I wake up.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Perfect lunch of a perfect happy family



Click on the image to view in high resolution. (From left to right: (top)chopped onions, ripe tomatoes soaked in soy sauce with fresh lemon; (bottom)flour coated, crispy-fried young mackerels, about 2 to 3 inches; finely-chopped bamboo shoot with jute or saluyot, coconut milk and mushroom; and fresh pineapple shake garnished with real pineapple.

I'd smile and laugh at myself when I think of my happy, and perfect family. Unarguably, mine is a very functional family, with each member an absolute "happy heart". My mother would gently yell and gingerly stare at me if I show languidness towards a happy lunch, though I've had three pieces of bread with peanut butter at 11 a.m. Lunch is basically past 1200 hours, just in time when older brother arrives from work. I'd sit on the dining table- prayer is murmured by anybody- and say "Amen" in chorus.

It's salty. You must be living by the sea.
It's overdone!
The okra looks pale.
The fish isn't fresh.
What a hard meat. This pig must be 10 years old!
We need Pepsi. Don't forget the ice. (Despite the presence of iced-tea)
Not hot enough, more chili please.


We speak at mealtimes like gastronomists, assert suggestions like a gourmet does. We don't even have oven at home (ha ha!). If you did the cooking, expect to hear corrections, suggestions and, however, motivation.

We have another set of perfect lunch as shown in the image above. I so love the crispy-fried mackerel. And they're fresh.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Color Blind (Audio with Lyrics)

Color Blind by the Counting Crows. Click play to listen and enjoy the lyrics. Listen in loud volume.

Color Blind by Counting Crows



A beautiful, sad, melancholic song by the Counting Crows. This song put me on tears.

People just so love harmony and tranquility. This song is about being who you're not. Why would one do so Daddy? To please anybody honey, to be likable, or maybe you're just so fucking good that you live according to their desires and expectations. Lucky are those mean, bad-ass bitches- people would be so happy when they become kind and as cute as your momma's fat baby.

When you've been extremely good like my dog Negra (my amazingly obedient, black dog), and you get so helluva mad as a raging Spanish bull, voila! you show off your true colors- people would despise you.

A steady, flowing one-milliliter drop of water from a leaking water pipe can fill a huge bucket. Your heart's so huge; you're sure you're having a cardiomegaly; you're so fucked up; like your heart's in your throat (which is a really, really wrong place, isn't it?)- you'd want to pull your self apart, show thy real self. It may be a good beginning.

It may be worse for anyone. They have loved the old- fake- you. What should you do? I do not know.

Maybe sing Color Blind by the Counting Crows and feel your tears flowing like a river.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Our World Is Filled With Bitches/Fat Women



Arnel Francis is right, the world is filled with fat women "ready to don their angry scalpels on the flesh of hopefuls". I have nothing against fat women, or being fat. Apparently, it's the fat women who are bred like crazy dogs with rabdovirus filling their brains.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Dominican Hospital, Inc. a secondary hospital run by Dominican sisters (if I heard it right from my mother). I was wearing my stiffly starched cream white long sleeves, slim pants, and my favorite leather shoes. While on the cab, I made a short prayer, removed my earrings and put on perfume. Striding on the dusty pathway towards the hospital door, ongoing construction on the right wing look promising. Architecture's a bit amazing. I put on my gentle, manly smile. Glad to see fellow nurses. Everybody looked busy. The fat woman on the information was hooked to a paper over her ugly table. Another nurse walked to and fro between emergency department and pharmacy. As enfermeiras são ocupadas! Competitive!

The fat woman, a nurse, stood up. She's like an over sized teapot of my Grandmother. Her short, stubby legs, as short as her inappropriately wide-framed, extremely fat trunk. Her face gleaming with my most-hated dark aura, aura escura, unshaven eyebrows meeting together like a ciguapa's pubic hair above her nose bridge. Went face to face with her, I was about to lose my smile. I asked with all good manners I can suffice, "Ma'am, good morning! I'm Patrick. Where can I give my application?" The extremely short bitch (about 4 feet and 11 inches) looked up at me, with her eyes wide open like oranges, in her ill-mannered attitude, she replied, "Unya ra sir ha kay busy pa ko!"

(I asked friends how to translate her statement in English but they're too busy to fix my problem I supposed. Her statement might be in translated as: Can't you see?! I'm busy! or For a while Sir! I'm busy! Zahir suggested- I'm quite busy sir. Can I attend to you later? No. Too kind. So unlikely with the black pig's manner.)

She turned her back on me, I saw her dark nape like burnt caramel I made for my popcorn. I stared at her, my dear black pig, wondering how could my colleagues act like this. At work, hopeful nurses approaching me for any hiring, I basically talk to them warmly. A nun, frowning and very stiff like my starched shirt, interrupted my gaze towards my dear black bitch. The people here in Dominican Hospital are just plainly angry with the world. I went out, my resume at hand. Felt the nice, cool breeze outside and smoked.

A black pig with rabies. Sounds good. Fits her perfectly.

I Love PLDT


P unyet*!
L a pa
D umating
T elepono ko!

This I basically hear from my friend recently. She paid the PLDT's My DSL installation fee of PhP 1,200 on November 25, 2008 (that's last year, take note!) through PLDT Digos City, Davao del Sur. No Official Receipt was given, just a specimen of the female staff in the cashier booth and her deciphered word- paid. Hello BIR! This can't be right! Accepting money from a consumer without issuing official receipt. After PLDT received the money, the My DSL department staff informed my dear friend, installation shall occur early December. My poor friend waited until Friday, she already had laid on plans and priorities to do once internet arrives. She called PLDT in the second of December, a female answered the call, a Filipina, probably born and raised in Digos City, with a poor diction, very arrogant, and so unwelcoming manner of talking to any soul in town. The same girl who made me lost my temper when I was also a hopeful consumer of PLDT My DSL Digos.

Let me say something about my experience with PLDT Digos. I also did not receive any official receipt when I gave the money. I paid the subscription or installment fee on a Monday. The bitch of My DSL said expect their technicians to do a survey in the same week, and the telephone plus internet shall be installed on or before Friday of the same week. I always have hard time keeping my patience from waiting. Friday of the same week, I called PLDT. The conversation between me and that bitch went like this:
Me: I would like to follow up on my internet application, my name is P_______... You told me blah blah blah...
Bitch: Sir, it might be installed next week.
Me: You should have told me! You should have called. I've been waiting!
Bitch: 'Di pa naman po tapos ang linggo.. In Cebuano- 'Wa pa bitaw nahuman ang simana. In English- The week's not over yet.
Me:(In the most furious manner I could do) What? Week's not over yet, whilst you just said it could be next week! You're making fool of me! You are making me wait for nothing! I am a very busy person. I have so much to do! You should have called me or informed me in any way so that I won't be waiting here like crazy! What is your problem?! You are not doing your job! Where do you think you're working Miss! In the market selling foul fish? You're in a corporate world! Wake up Miss! You're in PLDT! It's a huge company! Act like one! If you don't like your job, you quit!

I kept screaming, yelling, shouting, and taught her lessons, wisdom and principles. Yes, principles because this bitch obviously didn't have one. Less than an hour after my communication with the bitch, the technicians arrived. Got my phone on the same day, and the internet after a week. I made this excessively laid-back fellowmen of mine moved like how should everyone does.

But not in the case of my friend. She's a soft spoken, happy person. She barely screams and rarely gets furious. Some of her conversations with the girls-bitches of PLDT Digos:
My Friend: Christmas is over and I still don't have my internet.
Bitch: Puede po ninyong bawiin ang pera if 'di nyo na gusto. (You can have the money back if you don't like it). We don't have the port. We're waiting for the materials from General Santos City. Blah blah blah

Thus, the bitch wanted her to get the money and stop checking on the availment of their glorious services. I called PLDT hotline number 173 (not a hotline though, CSR only talks to you at office hours), a weak, dry voice told me there's no such account in my friend's name. Reasons? No payment has been made with her name on it. No data forwarded in main office. Ouch!

Everytime my friend talks to any of them, these bitches talk in their basics, extremely poor breeding, BASTOS, poor manner. Like you are unfortunately irking them. Sadly, it is now January 15, 2009, 52 days since her application, my poor friend is still offline. No telephone, no internet. I could have borrowed the money she gave to PLDT and have her enjoy 20% interest per month.


My friend has a shimmering, red telephone she bought from her Aunt, in her computer table. She had it there in place since November 25, 2008. Imagine a happy person, gleefully walking home, thinking of using her pretty red telephone.

I love you PLDT. I so love you. (PUKE!)