Note to self: "Talk to self, it just might listen."

*ring, ring....* hello self, are you there?

Hey self, you really never listen to you, don't you?

You know what? You were right when you said you'd rather not give in to your hormones. Yeah, yeah, we ARE there...I know you fear nothing and no one but hey, their numbers - I mean your hormones' numbers - should have daunted you. FYI, they are a million times more lunatic than you are. I warn you, it will petrify the daylights out of you should they decide to run amok inside your already fucked-up system. For chrissakes, watch your words! Oh yeah, you have got some attitude, yeah, and it's as raging as your zodiac but man puh-leeze and I mean PUH-LEEEEZE leave 'em poor little souls alone!! They aren't even worth the hell for you to let the world gauge your bitchiness meter!

Oh yeah. I know right where you're coming from. I know that you just had to had to had to vent or you'd explode, right? I get you there but man, it doesn't hurt to be hypocrite sometimes, man that's how this world fucking operates now and the least you can do is participate. I mean go with the damn flow man, go right where the current leads you. That's how this world revolves since Genesis.

Oh do not harangue me about IN-DI-VI-DU-A-LI-TY shit man, let's not even go there. I know how it takes so much out of you to conform but trust me, it will do you good. Y'know Imma' tell you this for your own good - rules are there for a reason.

I know I seldom make sense man but this time I am sure as hell I know what I'm talking about. I mean c'mon, haven't you learned? Haven't all those shit and stuff and shit again and stuff and some more fuckloads of shit, I mean c'mon man, what have all those taught you, huh?!?

Oh, selective amnesia my arse. Look at your skin, look at all the scars on it. Man no matter how you try your damnenest hard to fuckin bury all those to who knows which part in oblivion avenue, the fact remains - they existed! at some fucked-up point in your life, it happened and you have your beautiful scars to prove that they did! And that didn't make you a loser because it didn't leave you senseless. Remember the cliche man, the cliche.... yeah, that one. What doesn't kill you blah-blah cliche, yeah exactly, that one. Man it made you stronger didn't it? I mean look at you. You never were the moronic type, unlike the others who need some pill or substance shit to get through what you have gone through. I admire you for that, man you should know that.

What? So HOW are you "programmed to function" then huh? And will you stop liznen' to Lily Allen, I know that's from whom you ripped that line from, you can't fool me man.

Yeah. Good god you are getting my drift. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Leave them to their businesses, and if they do not have one, and it is apparent that they have none judging from how they find ways of bugging you, then just go ahead and mind yours. You have a life. that's not saying they don't have, it's just that yours is different..and they can never get that. They can't get that and that makes it all the more intriguing. You are a puzzle they itch so much to solve. You are some apocryphal cryptograph (man I don't know where I got that) they wanna get a high decoding. Man let them enjoy the free entertainment, for they can't afford otherwise. After all, the universal law has it:

WHAT GOES AROUND,

COMES AROUND.

WARNING: READ. INSTRUCTIONS. CAREFULLY.

Wherever my itchy feet (hey, I don't have athlete's foot... I meant that as a metaphor, yo) take me, I always have baon inside my pocket. Sometimes I got a lot the bulge it creates ruins my silhouette and makes my already ginormous thighs appear even, well, mooore ginormous.

Sometimes what I take with me comes as tiny as Tink, and sometimes, they are not even tangible. And these ones, I mean these intangible ones, are my favorite. They take me farther than where I want to trek. And when I am being lead there, it serves as my armor, my fail-proof armor.

This time what do I have in my pocket?

Is it tangible?

Something that would quench my thirst and provide me the dopamine I need?

Or is it intangible?

Something that would quench my thirst for life and provide me happy-hormones, which right now, not only does its proper term escapes me - the hormone itself escapes me. And need I say it? I am sad :(

Good thing I have a good thing here lurking in my pocket. Yeah it is intangible, and that's just even better so then I'd have no fear of it going stale.

What is that good thing? (or at least good for me)




an INSTRUCTION that reads:

DON'T BELIEVE EVERYTHING
YOU READ.

It applies to me, yeah.

You can blab all your way to eternity for all I care but hey, it won't make sense to me. I know you enough to know when you're just blabbing to catch attention or save face from being hit by the bitter fact that hey, you can't go on walking on a cloud, somebody out there is out to prick your bubble with his/her tongue...or pen...or... just encoded words. Somebody out there is always all ways better than you. Not saying that it's me though, you need to prove enough to earn the comparison. Lemme' haha. Oh me and my megalomania... which is far more forgivable and justified than yours. Lemme' haha more.


And it applies to you, too.

What makes it so?

Dig for the answer in my pocket.

Lemme' hahaha even more.

Oh just shut up! You have been warned, hav'ncha?!

Question: What's on your mind? *confessions of a facebook addict

Answer:





TONI ANTONIO has the biggest problemSSS in Cyberlandia :

• she can't decide whether to post a blog here, in multiply, or a note in facebook;


• she doesn't know what to tweet yet since she can't cut her current rambling short in order to fit into the 140-character limit;
  
  
• she's torn between defending her fall from grace in Word Challenge or elevate her knowiness level in Know-it-all;
  

--- she's been battling with herself, wanting to go offline but,nah! she needs her facebook fix.



*drool

Sorry Love

" I'm not single, I'm busy. "

- Renee Zellweger

Stubborn Heart

As my hairdresser yet again
chops off layer upon layer
of the dyed strands
with which you used
to run your fingers through,



I am bravely, finally...
letting go of you.



I just wish I will listen to ME.

Who are you wearing?

"...because airtime is free"

Love the quote. love who said it - Ms. Daphne Osena.

Yes, airtime is free, but a pricey pot of eyecream isn't. I've been hooked. Addicted. To facebook. In fact it's on the next window waiting for a click.

Anyway, they better make the (band)wagon sturdier lest it crashes.

I'm really supposed to be doing something else right now. say, like hitting the sack. For once. But need I say it? I'm insomniac; or reading this month's ish of Preview that's right there underneath my pillow, waiting to be ogred upon.

Speaking of which...

Hey it's July, it's marked on my planner - their Annual Ten Best-Dressed list. And boy I so like it, oh how I like it. I mean I love this July ish the most (so far, hah). No offense meant to the ones before her but oh boy, I love the woman on the cover - Ms. Maricel Soriano. One word for her - EFFORTLESS SOPHISTICATE! *Hey, those are two words you d*mwit.... see how puyat corrupts ones mind*


Would'ja believe she's 44? And oh, I don't think it's Photoshop. I think it's grace. Grace that comes with serenity despite being successful. Not everyone can pull that off. Especially not such contradiction - success and serenity - I think it's rare that they go together. That explains why I'm serene *haha, got that?*

Anyway, 'nuff about me..

No offense meant to the ones before her but oh boy, I loooove this best-dressed woman the most (Wait! I think I just said that, I'm repeating myself, obsessing about her). Oh well...For me, this one's the ultimate best (so far). I've been Preview's avid follower since 2003 and year after year since then, it's their July issue that I look forward to the most. I've seen how their standards in picking out who'll make it to the list has improved, as well as their way of presenting/featuring these women's impeccable tastes in clothing.

But this time Preview hits it big. They not only looked on the outside, but hey, they dug deeper. With Maricel Soriano leading this year's bunch, they've proven that what's important is who/what the woman is more than who/what she's wearing.

I am Cyberslacking *c'mon, who doesn't?

I am Cyberslacking...c'mon, who doesn't?!

Uh-okay, maybe not you. 'Coz maybe you need to wake up at 6 fucking A.M. so you like hit the sack around 11PM, right... Ha-hah! Lucky for me, 6:00AM is in the middle of the night . call me slacker but guess what, I am still awake,....* APPARENTLY!duh!*... cyberslacking.

So now what am I gonna blab about, huh... I've Twittered and facebooked and friendstered and lookbooked (hey, pardon my verbs) and now I've narrowed down my cyberslacking options to, uhmn, multiply. to multiply.. wait, wait... that doesn't sound right, eh... So lemme just say, I've narrowed down my options to here, here, telling you about things that to you may seem not to matter, but to me?, OH HELL IT DOES!

Haha, 'nuff baloney, Toe-knee ...

So lemme tell you about today... or make that yesterday.

Yesterday was one of those days when I traded my lunch for something. What that something was? Oh it was worth the abstinence and starvation (or at least I thought so before I devoured its content), - this week's ish of Newsweek Magazine - mainly because it was the young and innocent Michael Jackson on the cover. Then I settled for yoghurt for lunch. I need to shed off pounds anyway .

So with my meager meal consumed to the last drop, my demanding system must have craved for more, oh of course it does, it always does. Coz after devouring the magazine *hey, I may still be hungry but I'm not being literal here, a'ryt? lez make that clear! * I didn't like what I read. It focused on classifying racial features, or colors rather, that to me it sounded too dissertation-ish, too academic, lacking in feeling whatsoever.

Anyway, I'm not designed to bark at trees even if it's the right one so there, I'll put an end now to my critic mood. Nonetheless, I still am grateful there's one article there that made my day - Quincy Jones' fond reminiscence of MJ. Yes, Quincy, He's never gone. He's in us.

Or quoting Queen latifah, "We know we had him..."

God I still find it hard to refer to him in the past tense.

This time I won't be apologetic about obsessing about him and his early demise like I do on most things. Hey it's MJ and no matter how I try to conceal it on my face, the fact remains - I AM AN 80s BABY!

I was 2 or 3 or 4 when I danced along his tracks on MTV and on my grandparents' phonograph playing his longplays/records. And I wore my USA for Africa shirt to shreds. It has a silhouette of him very much alike his picture on the cover of that Newsweek Magazine I traded my lunch with.



*sigh

I miss him.

I remembered how ecstatic I was when the good people behind Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum transported their goods in our humble City (Davao) and I was there, lingering quite a while on MJ's replica, silly to have attempted to breathe life into him through the thick glass encasement.

Oh what I wouldn't give to be able to really do that, breathe life into him, again.

Sad.