It'll be a lot more fun if we talked, ne?
Current mood: Raped
Current music: Cornflake Girl - Tori Amos
I'm having a Tori Amos marathon. Doing my rounds, I can't help but feel that some people are actually accomplices in a posse. Like it was a gang-rape (yes, with a dash sign in between). A gang rape that I didn't particularly enjoy. I hope I'm wrong, but it sure looks that way.
I thought my theory was wrong, so I conceived a new one. Turns out I'm closer to hitting the mark with the first, while not necessarily invalidating the other. It's sad, really. Tragic.
I'm censoring myself now. I will not make the same mistake. I should hold back my punches. I will reserve my true sentiments for you.
She knows what’s going on
Seems we got a cheaper feel now
All the sweeties are gone
Gone to the other side
They musta paid her a nice price
This is not really happening
You bet your life it is. Peel out the watchword.
Did I mention that I hope I'm wrong? Change that. I wish I'm wrong.
Current mood: Festive
Current music: Make-Up - Pegasus Fantasy
(nuckDown) Do you play Jojo's Bizzare Adventure?
(Jotaro) Yup. Sa PS lang.
That's our opening line. We met through our shared love for video games.
(Jotaro) He's so gay...with that black speedo.
(Jotaro) Hahaha. Bakla nga,anlakas naman.
(nuckDown) As far as I'm concerned, they all look gay. Even the female ones.
(Jotaro) Ooops,I was talking about Vanilla Ice
Ah yes, homosexuality. 'Tis the invisible pink silk ribbon that binds us all together a-la Globe Telecom.
(Jotaro) Have you been bottom before?
(nuckDown) I'm a virgin. At least, my ass is. :P
(Jotaro) Ah. Malaki-laki ito ha....
(Jotaro) Yung file I mean.
(nuckDown) Honga, hirap ipasok eh.
(nuckDown) Sa hard drive ko, I mean.
(Jotaro) Virgin pa HDD mo.
...of course, I can't make the same claim anymore.
Saint Seiya. Gensomaden Saiyuki. His angel. My (former) sunshine. Gym. Jacking-off. Sex. Sexual positions. IRC. Gay. Games. PEXing. Blogging. EXs. Crushes. Tenzil. J-Pop. Anti-mainstream. Anti-mush. That FX girl. Jealousy. Witty repartee. Magic: The Gathering. Baguio. Anger. Power. Anime. Geekdom. Ego-building. Ego-smashing. No bullshit. I'm So Pretty. Advises. Tops and Bottoms. Abs and Pecs. Japanese. Planet Pita. Toys. 7650. Guilty Gear. Anji Mito. Zato-One. Life. Love.
Honestly, I was hesitant at first to talk to you over the phone. You have repeatedly expressed your interest in a vocal conversation, but I was afraid that I might disappoint you. You impressed me with your wit, your experiences, your wisdom, your mastery of the gay/gaming worlds (difference utterly obscure), your no-bull approach. I was afraid that I might clam up or stutter a lot, and you'd get disappointed, and you'd shun me out of your life. I've already grown to love you as my kuya, even if only through IRC and SMS, that I couldn't bear the thought of you drifting away. Thank the heavens that you eased me into it. I still don't get why you said you liked my "kind-of-nasal, adorable telephone voice". Thank you too, for maintaining communication lines open despite forever-clashing schedules, geographical chasms, and drained cellphone credits.
Haven't you noticed that I was ill at ease when we first met? I was intimidated by your whammy looks, physique, and spirit. I'm pretty sure that I bored the hell out of you then, and I'm sorry for that. It was only fairly recently that I truly loosened up to you, and boy, did I. You are, and will remain to be, my number one confidant in this crazy nonstraight life. You'll have to tolerate me being a glad wrap from here on out.
Am I making sense? Are you still reading this? Incoherence was never one of my strongest points. I guess all I'm trying to say is I love you, Kuya.
Happy Birthday, Zeki.
May the great Kami-sama shower you with blessings, the way you have graced my life as well as others'.
Current mood: Better, definitely.
Current music: Alisha's Attic - Indestructible
From a Yahoo!Groups message: Quattro Saturday 9pm! Everybody should come!
Finally, a venue for drinking. I've been sober for quite a while, and I needed an escape from my own busy thoughts by shrouding it in a drunken haze.
I didn't know how to go to that bar. Papu instructed me that while it's not exactly walking distance away from Delta, I can still hoof it. So what I did, I dropped off at Delta and trekked. I was around halfway there when I was reminded of what I was wearing: a thin shirt that soaks up humidity from the atmosphere like deliquescent sodium hydroxide pellets, and a pair of feet torture devices that resemble iron maidens, only that they're leather. Note to self: Walking distance is relative, and you have to factor in weather and the style-to-comfort ratio of your shoes.
Was I relieved that the place was ACd. Almost everybody was already there, plus a cute new face named Ace, Glendel's "friend". Everybody has ordered their drinks, so I called for my standard cocktail Margarita. Their drinks came in these very masculine mega mugs that look like props from the set of Monty Python, while mine came in a tall chic cocktail glass with a lime wedge. That moment felt like I was a girlfriend of a macho frat jock in a macho frat house on football night. In short, I felt fab. Hey, at least mine has substantialy higher alcohol content than halo-halo (but we'll never know what were in those beans, right Jioxicillin?). Oh, their margarita sucks. Too little alcohol, too much juice. Nothin beats Cafe Adriatico's. Seeing that it will take more glasses, I ordered an unfamiliar concoction named Tango de Mango. I barely finished 1/4 of it when eager-beaver Kahlee accidentaly nudged it while snuggling Jio, spilling my drink on the table and on Jio's and my pants. Chris only said sorry to Jio. Saya. Ansarap pa naman nun. At least Arrjae proved his kissing prowess with the Cherry Stalk Knotting Test, using the cherry that came with my drink. I wanted to test it first hand, but Arrjae said "he had other plans" while slowly backing away. Nyahaha.
Everybody was in drunken mirth, more guys trickled in. With a mango-smelling right leg and being unable to relate to most of their conversation topics, I felt the urge to call This Boy. SMS feels too impersonal for me, especially for a guy I find interesting, so I excused myself to the comfort room and rang his cellie, only to be diverted to his mailbox everytime. Whaddaya know, I get charged for listening to a recording prompt to leave a message even if I'm not leaving any. So I called his landline instead. First call, second call, third...no answer. Fourth call, someone that sounded like his sister said he's out. It was a half-hour after midnight. It was supposed to be his day-off. Where could he be on a Saturday night at this ungodly hour? Not being able to hear from him on weekdays is bad enough, since he's in graveyard shift, but even at weekends? Bad omens careening through my head, I went back to the table feeling even more detached than I normally am. Well-meaning guys asked me if I'm alright. Yeah I am. They're not convinced, I don't look alright daw. Of course I'm not. I wanted to share it, but it was an occasion where a sobfest is the least interesting topic to discuss. Jio even told me outright, albeit jokingly, that he doesn't want to hear about it. Tired feet, frustrated drinking spree, spilled mango cocktail on my pants, and now a boy crisis. Was I in for a long night.
I wanted to leave. I felt like I was an unseen stray in the midst of good spirits. S.O.S. texts to a friend seemed to have delayed delivery time. So what I did, I tried calling him for sober comfort. Turns out that my cellphone credits are drained, no thanks to that damn mailbox. I walked out.
After passing PLU stares left and right, I sat down on a chair outside, thinking of This Boy who I'm not even committed to. I'm an affection whore - I reciprocate instantly at the first gesture of affection, with the corresponding emotional investment. Then, at the moment that that affection seemed to wane, I feel rejected.
I've recently been through a series of rejections, and while I'm not a stranger to being rejected, the series of events that night somewhat catalyzed my serotonin reuptake.
It's not blind affection, though; I'd have to at least see some sign of interest from the guy. Just some. And until the guy says outright that his affection is completely platonic, I remain in my dream state, seeing halos around minimal light sources with seemingly ecstacy-induced awe. He's somewhere in the metro, at 12:45 in the morning, with no word since our last meeting. I began to walk home.
A random thought, a governing one at that, stopped me on my tracks. Oh yeah, I haven't paid my bill yet. I chuckled at the thought, and went back.
Back on my seat, I saw Dennis Goonie and Kuya Joems coming back from outside. Didn't they see me? I bolted upright from my seat, "borrowed" Goonie, and dragged him back outside to have a session. What he was about to say were nothing new, but at last, I was able to exhale what's been congested obstructively from my limbic system. I was actually welling tears, but I controlled my lachrymal glands for fear that I might cry my contact lenses off. Goonie found it funny, and so did I. Chuckle break. Our talks were heading towards dark territory, and since the last thing I needed that night is negative energy, I gave in to his pleads to come back in.
Feeling refreshed, I was finally able to enjoy the night. Too bad it was at the last leg, but bah, I don't cry over spilled Tango de Mango. Once again, being with the ODDers pulled me out of my rut. I thank my teddy-boo Goonie, Marvin Papu my Kjeldahl selenium sulfate (catalyst), my Kuya Zeki, who wasn't there but still heeded my call despite SMS delays, and Chris Paldeng, whose lil stint was actually instrumental to my recovery. Oh, and to my crush's hug, too. :D
We left Quattro to eat in this place whose upholstery were in primary colors red, blue and yellow: World Topps. They have a pretty interesting menu, which while not startingly new, promised a multicultural experience. I ordered French Garlic Mushroom Steak, which is a fancy name for bistek na may murang bawang (au champignon). I'll forgive the place for serving dry rice, because we overstayed, the closing time being 2:30 and the time being 2:45. Goonie's Al Pesto was excellente, but is served measlingly. Being the gourmand du jour/gastronomer that I am, I have to sample their other dishes next time.
I hitched a ride on the south people's cab and dropped off at the corner of EDSA and Timog Avenue. Oh yeah, Novaliches-bound buses take the overpass, that terminates in front of GMA, approximately 50 meters away. Not a far walk, but my feet were scrunched in agony. So what I did, I took off my shoes, and walked on my socks with my shoes on my hand. A bus came after a long while, and of course I wore my shoes back before riding it. At least, before mounting, the night ended with my feet and my heart liberated from their torture devices.
*A corruption of the Latin phrase Quod Erat Faciendum =)
Current mood: Good Friday-ey
Current music: Björk - Bachelorette
Let me start by saying, Hello. My name is nuckDown. I'm an ALcoholic. -winks to Jagard-
I've moved to Blogspot! Woohoo! It really tested my html-knowledge. There still are a lot of stuff that I wanna tweak around with here, like how to change what the Haloscan comments link says and all that, so seasoned Blogspot users, tasukete kudasaimen ka?
As my 2 to 3 faithful readers can see, I haven't been updating my Livejournal account. This is due to a couple of reasons. One, I got bored of it's format. The lack of freedom to edit it's template sucks. Or maybe it's just because I don't know how to edit. Anyhoo, I grew tired of it. Secondly, and more importantly, let's just say that there's too much heat in that community. I may be just trying to escape, yes, but it's something that I have no control over. Ne, Jagard-sama?
My current template. I've been wanting to create a pharmacy-themed blog, being that that is my profession-to-be. Though I'm afraid that I make a poor example of the pharmacist, and much as I dwanna be the grime in Hygeia's cup (the symbol of pharmacy), my lack of creativity has got the best of me. Sorry, dear colleagues, I'm on a roll.
A little crash course on the profession. Pharmacy is the science and art of everything that has got to do with (are you ready for this?) drugs (no way). So far pharmacists have undergone the following paradigm shifts:
1. We make the drugs (compounding/manufacturing pharmacy),
2. We sell premanufactured drugs (community/hospital pharmacy), and most recently,
3. We monitor drug usage (clinical pharmacy/pharmaceutical care).
In the Philippines, since we lack the technology and equipment to create our own drugs, more often than not, our drug supply comes from foreign manufacturing firms. Or, we import their equipment, then we make our own (or label them as our own. Typical Pinoy.).
Speaking of Pinoy, what most Filipinos know (or care to know) about pharmacists is that we are tinderas. Ask any shmuck on the street, and 9 times out of 10, he would blurt out "Mercury". The distribution process of drugs alone is very delicate and requires professional knowledge, for what are drugs but chemicals to be swallowed/injected into human beings and anything that happens to them can kill, but, as our lovely professors regularly inculcate on us, community pharmacy practice ("Mercury") is the lowest pharmacy practice that a pharmacist can aspire to. But what pharmacist does the common tao have contact with? Yup, tinderos. Little for me to criticize the work of another, but some (no, most) pharmacists just give out their license to sari-sari stores posing as pharmacies, and just sit on their butts, waiting for the cash to flow in. Can't really blame them though, other schools simply don't stress enough the broadness of our chosen fields of study and that pharmacists are, in fact, the true experts on drugs and are therefore invaluable in the health care team. In the US, an emergency team is composed of three members: a physician to lead, a nurse to administer, and a clinical pharmacist to monitor drug use. In the Philippines, in some hospitals, even the physicians laugh at the pharmacist's role, saying that we're nagmamarunong. But the reality is, in PGH alone, 70% of adverse drug events from drug interactions and untoward reactions have been prevented by the intervention of clinical pharmacists. That's 70% of failed drug regimens, drug-induced injuries, and yes, death, prevented. Granted, only a few hospitals have clinical pharmacists with adequate training, and that its practice is largely at it's developmental stage here. But once in full bloom, pharmacists surely will be smack dab in the center of the health care arena.
My name is Vermont, aka nuckDown. An incoming senior in the University of the Philippines, taking up Bachelor of Science in Pharmacy. The Pharmacist (to be) is in (Blogspot).
Blog in the making. Your prescription will be called after a while.