Though a good chunk of this is probably BS, it's enjoyable BS on Valentine's Eve, nonetheless.

www.anecdotage.com (am too lazy to href this)

AND

Saw American Gangster last week on HBO.

Heroin movies, I find, are the most romantic of all drug movies.

Case in point: Gia. Trainspotting. Requiem for a Dream. And now, American Gangster.

Okay maybe romantic is not the right word, but I dare you to sleep in the middle of these films. Because seeing someone shoot coke is not as scary as when you see someone shoot up H. Because Hollywood taught us that Heroin users either end up dead in a)the empty bathtub b) the toilet with molds c) the hospital with AIDS or d) among the homeless in the dumpster. Isn't that worth staying up?

Plus the Denzel is the LURV.

New Years stopped being fun three years ago. Don't ask.

I'm done with optimism and more so with pessimism. I just watch what happens, thus keeping the disappointment on the low and everything else is gravy.

2008 was... full of the hot air of fun. You know you're supposed to be having fun but, you can't seem to bring yourself to. I've gained back friends I thought I lost and found my way back to forgiving everyone and perhaps, even myself.

So 2009, with all its nondescript. generic promises of hope and silver lining (I'm not really a silver lining person as one can easily surmise), I shall be watching in bland expectation.

The fall out of 2008 being an altogether different concept, especially that of the last few months of it, I am mostly wary and on guard over emotional landmines and easy friendship you get along the way.

Because I heard, those things can kill you.

I always loved getting books for Christmas. Sadly, the past few has been fraught with any. I love people shoving books in my face to read because sometimes, I really can't keep track of the good ones when you're busy keeping up with everything else. Someone once told me its hard to give books as Christmas presents because you don't really know if the ones you like will not freak out the next person, guaranteed (i.e. giving "The Yellow Wallpaper" to someone will probably not make you the most popular girl in school). But I disagree. I love giving/getting books for Christmas.

Sadly this one never came. I don't care if it has SATC fan written all over it (though I'm not really sure if there's anything wrong with that), I just want one for my dwindling shelf. Which brings me to a pet peeve of mine: empty slots in my shelf. Slots belonging to books that have been on loan for so long I forget whom I lent it to. Because really, book borrowing etiquette is not really that high up in people's list of priorities (I think its right down between texting/calling back when you miss a call and saying grace).

I'm missing some of my Ian McEwans and Nick Hornbys and my OoTP.

And I can't remember whom I lent it to, daggumit.

My friend Candy read the Twilight books even before it was released here, off some ebook I think. And like every avid reader should, she pimped it to everyone else within a mile radius. And like any hoity toity non-fan, I refused to be a lemming and DIDN'T read it. Like Harry Potter part deux (though that one, I hung my head in defeat in the end, drats!).

But, for reasons I cannot remember, I owe her a movie which I didn't like - that she did - watch it with her and pay for the popcorn as well. It was Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants 2 (I didn't even see the first one!), then Mama Mia (But people are singing! and are tanned!) then this one. I figured, since she agreed to watch it with the rest of my co-residents in SM San Lazaro, the crowd should at least be entertaining.

And the Tayuman-Sampaloc people didn't disappoint.

Behind us were a couple of UST college students who knew all the words to the movie and were sent in spasms of fangurrrl fits (squelched screams and ill-concealed squeals of glee) whenever the pale guy appears onscreen. I stopped paying attention to the plot as listening to the book club behind us was far more entertaining.

This was the first time I watched anything in SM San Lazaro and I have to say, while I'm not exactly rushing to the nearest bookstore to read Stephanie Meyer, I'm looking forward to the next movie date in the said cinema.

*

Interactive session on a Psoriasis patient with Dr. Tan:

Dr. Tan (talking to the patient): We'll start to taper your Methotrexate next week. And always remember to pray: Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!

Okay.

Jesus Q8.

Got it.

I think I've gone to crazyville and mingled with the crazy people.

This was the last week of my supposed second year. It was spent shuttling to Wack Wack for the research paper contest, then to Blue Wave for the Dermatology Department's Alumni Homecoming (which was spent viewing old pics of alumni in standard 80's wear) then finally the PDS Convention.

From medical school, you're kind of taught what to expect should you choose your training specialty. Like if you're a girl and you're semi kind of hot and got into surgery, you're bound to get in the sack with another resident (girl or guy), commitment free. Which is sort of a good thing, for some people. In Dermatology, you need to be in peace with all your imperfections because if not, the insecurity is bound to drive you to crazyville or a ten foot cliff. In the PDS (Philippine Dermatologic Society) Convention, everyone is pretty and sparkling or had traces of prettiness and sparkliness in them. You just have no idea how. It's my second year coming to these events and really feels like I haven't learned any, feeling like a sore thumb sticking out.

So yeah, with people as beautiful as these, who needs the perfect liver? Or the smartest brain? Right?

*

I've been regressing the past months. And I think I've regressed as far as seven years back when I have not met all the monsters of recent years past. So all is in bright neon pinks and SD, bug-eyed forms from my point of view from hereon.

Cheers.

So that Eraserheads concert. In Tinaworld, can't go by without me sounding off for a bit.

As anyone who has known me since high school would atest, I'm a rabid 'Heads fangirl way back when. That whole phase led me to a somewhat depressive mood up until college (it was in vogue back then - or so I thought). Then I got to med school when I stopped being sad and just got really REALLY paranoid. Anyway, I was a big fan - Converse sneakers, learning the guitar, Pillbox, Fruitcake - I ate everything up.

So when I heard they were having a reunion concert, I really REALLY wanted to go. I was already about to purchase tickets for me and a coerced friend when I paused and easily hit the esc button soon as I saw that the patron "seats" will be... well, non-existent. I'm not really into that sweaty bodies, stampede-potential crowd phase.

Its all hygiene before anything else for me from now on.

I'd like to think this is not me turning away from the principles of rock and roll (rule #1 being: WAG MAARTE).

One of my med school friends, actually lived the life I wanted for myself in high school, the band's groupie. I tried convincing her to go with me, but she went all snooty and refused to actually pay for the first time, just to watch the band perform a 30-set concert. If it comes down to breaking rule #1, at least dalawa kami, hahaha.

*

New pre-residents coming in for next year. One more and I'm done. Hopefully.

Time to get all the introspective laundry out to hang in open air. And the topic as of late...

My evolution thus far:

Madonna (in the Like A Virgin video)
Mama Mary in the Nativity
Girl Scout
The Fat Kid
Volleyball Player
Anorexic
Bad Actress
A Peacock in a Pageant
Student Teacher (ng Math... and how!)
Soprano in the School Choir
Basketball Fan (guess which team...)
Band Vocalist
someone's Phone Pal
Janeane Garoffalo in "Reality Bites"
Probinsyana
Feature Writer
Paranoid-Delusional
Anime Otaku
Medschool quitter then unquitter
Clerk
Intern
Fanfiction writer
Secret Teller (more) and Keeper (less)
Crusher and Crushee
Roommate
Friend
Enemy
Lover
Broken
Fixed
Pre-resident
Resident
.
.
.

Many more in between. I really don't want to say whore but then again, everyone went through different kinds of whoring at some point in their life anyway, di ba?

So sige, whore.

Was in Bohol last week.

I hate my skin.

I'm easily midway between skin type 1 and 2, which translates to always burns, never tans. Its sad because I LOVE the beach and feeling the sun on my skin, but I also know there'd be hell to pay the next day should I overindulge myself. Went snorkeling for a couple of minutes and it cost me few hours of wheals and rashes on my face and back afterwards.

Easily, my predicament is easily mistaken for vanity. Especially when I'm applying my third layer of sunblock. I don't think not wanting to burn your self to a crisp would fall under vanity, no?

Anyway, had great deal of fun. Highlight of our trip was the boat trip back to the main island after a full day of island hopping. High tide and all with our wee bit of a wooden boat crashing against waves bitchslapping it this way and that. It was fun for a full five minutes then it just became horrifying when we realized we're the only ones in the middle of the fricking ocean.

But all the screaming was great catharsis. What with us being cloistered inside the OPD for most of the year.

Sun and near-death did us a real bunch of good, I believe.

*

Taking a break from studying histopathology and trying to post from my new toy (well not really new, its showing its glitches already like every 5 minutes) and I sort of got tired of staring blankly at the wall in front of me. Haven't gotten around to naming it. Last time I named a gadget it sort of died with the person who gave it. Speaking of dead things, one of our dogs died last week. We call her gorgie, short for gorgeous. Sadly her name no longer gave justice to her when she died. Her creatinine was shot off the roof. As in dialysis level. She got worse evrytime I go home, looking all skin and bones with ascites. Sad talaga. Like leptospirosis looking sad. Wow an entire post without a new paragraph! Okay the novelty of this post has outlasted my interest. Time for pansit.

Had the most surreal Friday last week. Perhaps surrealism goes along with the over-eightness of the day. Like the numbers' mysticism went full circle and ended up somewhere between nothingness and passive-aggressiva.

My last grandrounds for the year came and went as if, nothing (I'm feeling word abusive just right now) and the rest of the afternoon just breezed by as if a tumbleweed through a ghost town. Its the strangest thing.

Had early dinner with Candy and Tin-tin. Thoroughly disappointed with the lack of Lava Cake from Tazza and settling for Kocco's chocolate-strawberry insanity of a cake, went home well-fed but not quite satisfied.

Got home with the most worrisome cramp on my right leg (Thank you Bicutan-Sucat stretch) at around eight. I think. I've not been paying much attention to time and date the past few (forgot a couple of milestones, unlocked windows and birthdays along the way even) but I do remember watching the opening of the Beijing Olympics and Sarah Brightman standing on top of the world. I really wanted to catch the Philippine delegation and see what they're wearing (curiosity courtesy of Project Runway's last episode, yes) but snoozed somewhere in the middle of... I can't remember which country since they weren't alphabetically coming in the stadium.

Anyway, it was one of those naps, the from duty kind that I've not had in a while (since I'm blessed enough to be exempt from such horrific practice, unitl next year that is, and still get to brandish an MD plate). Such that when my mom woke me and asked me if I CAN drive her to Alabang, it didn't strike me strange, her question. I got up smart and sharp, still wearing my day old uniform. The TV was off and when I checked the clock, it read 8:45.

"Kaya mo ba mag-drive? Kelangan natin sunduin yung bagong maid, nasa tapat daw siya ng Metropolis" (Can you drive? We need to pick up the new househelp, she's waiting in front of Metropolis Mall)

Her question and tone made better sense when I realized it was, in fact, 1:30 in the morning and 30 minutes from that realization, I was sprinting through SLEX, nearly running through two traffic cones and several meters' stretch of highway that's yet to be asphalted (is that even the proper term?).

Fitting end to 08-08-08 I must say.

Currently rediscovering Jason Mraz.

All but like an old lover, different and familiar in one breath.

"Prettiest Friend" reminds me of a 50's detergent commercial jingle (or what I would imagine is a 50's detergent commercial jingle) and I love it. I can't find which album it belongs (anybody?), but did find it on youtube.

"I'm Yours" always makes me smile over morning coffee (no matter how ABS CBN pretty much killed it) and "Love for A Child" grows on you like lichens on trees.

He has such pretty words for everything, its almost like 2004 again and Ian can't seem to make me stop singing "Sleep All Day" while on duty at the SICU.

I've had a brief Elton John phase (for about 3 weeks) and found Mraz' cover of "Rocket Man" and it doesn't belongs to one Elton tribute album. It could've been his own.

Watched 'Wanted' last night.

Very cool.

For everyone who has a bit of a boy in them.

Which I have a ton of, I must admit.

A boy IN, but not a boy WITH.

I'm too tired to blog about singlehood and the crap that come with it.

So blood, bullets and quirky humor from the perspective of Timur Bekmambetov. And holy crap, Angelina Jolie, in that first scene she appeared, you have to admit... she looks like she kills people while on slow motion everyday for breakfast.

Well I did sort of had a moment of hating everything about blogging and parading all your miserable shortcomings (bad grammar and spelling not exempt) so much so that I deleted my other blog (see how sad that sounded like? 2 blogs?)... then followed by moving out of La Ciudad (my home for an amassed 6 years interrupted by 2) then moving in somewhere where I have covered parking and my own room, then there was some sprinkle of fairy dust of loathing everything about myself, since old habits die hard and hard to be taught out of an old dog like me... then I watched Iron Man last weekend and I thought, I just have to blog about this.

So here we are.

I just have to say that Iron Man was a great movie because Robert Downey Jr. belongs to movies with loud guitar riffs in the background of every scene while everything else (eardrums included) explodes. He's as cool as they come doesn't he? Bad heroin rep and strange press can do you some level of good I guess.

I've been driving from Laguna to Manila for two straight weeks now (the flooring on my new place is still being set) and can I just say how gas price hikes (2 pesos/liter in 2 weeks) have been hemorrhaging my small stash of resident's money? Met up with Mango and Joan last week for dinner at Serendra and Joan and I were waiting in front of Shell in Ayala. We were parked in front of the sign with bright red lights showing the gas prices. It looked pretty close to the color of blood. It drove both of us crazy while Mango got lost on her way to Makati (how somebody can do that, beguiles me still).

And then there's my paper. My effing second year resident's paper. Great hailstorm of panic and hyperventilation on my part as... that's what I do best. So goodbye pre-dinner massages and desserts at Fleur de Lys and hello Blackwell Synergy and Pubmed. My adviser really brings in the crazy and takes me for a ride around crazyville when she's in the mood. It was botox, the premise of which was we'd pretty much make each patient look like they had stroke and paint them purple, just for the fun of it (I am SO NOT KIDDING about this one). Then it became botox for the armpits, but politics within the system (which I'm all for really, GO POLITICS *waves flag*) prevents me from doing it. Then it became... okay, just between me, myself and I.
And keloids. Promise. That's the end of that.

I'm counting driving in EDSA last Friday at 12MN a blessing as it kept me from thinking of that frigging paper for a sharp four hours. Met up with Honey(!), Janice, Joan (!!) and Ian in Trinoma and had fish for dinner. Wasn't awkward or anything but it was... different. Like we're old ladies and the amount of history in that table was so thick, it could fill out a grade 4 history book. I never felt so old in my life. But I was really happy to see Honey again. I think that was the first time I saw her since Cate's wedding back in 2006. And we didn't even spoke much then. I've missed dinners like that when it was the four of us against the world.

Well the ugly people in the world that is.

Which, lets face it, there's a whole lot of ugly out there.

Had the strangest hangover story from last week. Call it a week of meeting ghosts and clouds in my coffee.

Anyway, tequila and tears... you know the drill. So woke up with a closet of a hangover. You know, its there, but doesn't quite make you throw up all over yourself. Just weird and, in my case, sniffly. So was getting ready for the day, which constituted attending the UST Postgraduate Course. There's something to be said about going back to your alma mater and encountering ghosts you made all by yourself, but that's an entirely different entry all by itself. So.

Woke up.

Got out of bed.

Dragged a comb across my head.

Only had no comb in the entire apartment.

So I had to get dressed, post tequila-ed, bleary eyed and hair in all directions possible (and man, my hair, not exactly very pretty these days, what with the lack of haircutting action) and crossed Piy Margal at 7 in the morning (not even a decent hangover waking time, yes) looking for a Springmaid comb from one sari-sari store to another. I was wearing an oversized gray shirt with small aliens printed everywhere.

Thankfully, I found my soulmate of a comb, in melon orange. Four sari-sari stores later.

Felt like a Christopher Nolan film where I'd go back in the apartment and find some bloodied hatchet or something.

So there. That was my film noir experience for the year.

*

Should you ask again, it will be a yes.

Was talking to my roommate about our college alter-egos when Karen Kunawicz' name came up. "On the Verge" was so emo-goth, I thought I'd laugh at it when I read it again, but oh you foolish foolish child. Not with a heavy, hormonal heart you won't.

Check back again after a couple of days, I'd probably be giggling silly over this. After all, its supposed to be all rainbows, ponies and lollipops from now on di ba?

Sana lang.



NINETIES depression is so... nineties.

I was doing some post-Christmas shopping for Wedding stuff (the ever elusive, and banished to never be found, simple orange clutch) last week, and I notice the Starbucksization of most establishments, and how!

See no matter how crappy the planner may be and despite the 2006 punishment of a Christmas beverage that was the ginger ale blend, the Starbucks planner has been a personal Christmas tradition. Call me a lemming with a make-believe caffeine addiction (though really, I've grown fond of the beverage) but atleast I make use of the planner and not let it rot until the next year. Though mostly, I it turns out as my food diary, or a book for calling cards, pamphlets, tissue paper and candy wrappers. But its one of the things that kept me sane this year. Gives me a bit of perspective.

And an insane collection of (non-starbuks ha) stickers.


Incriminating parts airbrushed. Yeah, I'm such a wuss .

Damn gonna miss that planner. And the gajillions of calories, drama and massage trips that came with it.

Anyway, this year it seems, everyone else jumped into the planner bandwagon. Gloria Jean's has one. So does Seattle's Best and Powerbooks. Even Sbarro and Jollibee(!). Lots of people gonna be doing a hell lot of 'planning' this year. 2008 is going to be a well-planned year so it seems.

This year's planner reminds me of Tom Riddle's Diary. I'm thinking of sticking his name in front of mine, actually. It's thinner and has less space for sticker-ing. So I thought I'm going to give the scrapbooking-slash-basura toting tendencies a rest for this year and actually do some planning than looking back.

But then Candy gave me this black journal/scrapbook of sorts.

With empty pages.

And a quote I heard from SOMEONE ELSE :-) (Not that I'm complaining, though I think the universe is telling me something)



Meaning, yeah, have to keep them stickers/napkins/brochures/pamphlets/coasters coming. Nevermind the weird looks from the waiters when I ask for an extra set of napkins when we have five between us on our table.

I have a bunch of stickers for my planners. Letter stickers from Robee, mood stickers from David and Goliath and Office Warehouse and random smileys and whatnots from everywhere I go (or where everyone who knows what I'm up to, has been to). I have shiny pastry stickers, dresses, dolls and animals, embossed heart jelly stickers, wedding stickers, a dozen 'I miss you', 'Happy Anniversary' and 'I love you' stickers.

I'm just wishing the last 3 items would earn them a spot in that scrapbook this year.

Ooooh, and I have a Wedding themed sticker pad.

Just in case (I'm winking at you Mr. Fate).

*

Plans for this year:

1. Be disgustingly positive (I think I'm on that path since mid of last year, actually)
2. Yoga
3. Trip to Far Away
4. Save money
5. A contingency plan

I'm not sure how I'm going to reconcile 2, 3 and 4 but hey, that's why I don't have this laminated.

I thought December was going to be a breeze this year, fitting end for the roller coaster ride that was my first year in rtesidency. But nooooo, if I were to make a toxicity graph of months, peaks were July, August and December.

Not-so-funnily, everyone else seems to think I'm pulling their leg when I say, 'nah, really can't go I have to do tons of stuff blah blah blah' since it *is* Dermatology and people who get into it, expect as less stress as possible. But really, a small patch of earth with 17 girls to work with? Seriously.

But then, not everyone could still throw around the MD title and work 8 to 5, 5 days a week (well, most of the time). Not everyone can get a weekly massage, have dinner at home and the time to make powerpoint animations for their grandrounds all in a day. Not everyone can brandish that MD plate, get away with breaking a couple of traffic rules in a jiffy.

So I'm really lucky that not everyone could be me. Modesty aside.

So, ushering in year 2 and I'm thinking of year 3 already. There's a great deal of pressure lifted being the middle-grounders this year. Cause really, in a three-year program, what matters most is the first and the last. So we're actually in a pit stop if you may. I'm hoping we're now allowed to fly under the radar and let everyone else gossip over the petty stuff. GO TEAM MEDIOCRE!

*

I'm just happy I've done all my Christmas repsonsibilities in time this year. Still had to squeeze the shopping time in between weekend rounds with Dra. Tan (you'll laugh thinking of having edema rounds in Derma, but yes, we DO), rehearsals for the RPO (resident's night if you may, we didn't get third, which was what we were aiming for, hehe) and putting together a decent graduation for the seniors ( decent being the operative). I only got to Cuenca, Greenhills and the staple Makati malls and bazaars this year. Not as bad as what I experienced the past years.

Lotsa gifts! New friends, new gifts! The year's been good, met the best and the worst, hopefully done with the JR surprises. Can't wait for the coming year.

Merry Christmas people!

Jeanne Calment was the oldest person who ever lived at the age of 122 years and 164 days until she died in 1997. She met Vincent Van Gogh when she was 14 and attended Victor Hugo's funeral. Around 1965, she sold her condominium apartment to a lawyer who agreed to pay her monthly until the day she died. Said lawyer died of cancer in 1995 and his wife had to continue paying Calment for the next two years.

I can't understand why in the movies there's always someone looking for a way to live forever. It's insane. This woman had to watch her parents, her siblings, her siblings' children (one of whom she sent to Medschool), her friends, her dog(s) ... she was fencing at age 80 and ate put olive oil on everything she eats. Who wants to fence at age 80 while eating olive grease covered siomai? Maybe its the picky sloth in me talking, and I would've probably dealt with it better at 70, but 80's just too far a stretch.

Our family runs a good lifespan, so I'm pegging MY time at around 60 to 70. I'm not fancying the thought of being all wrinkly and pooping all over the place (even if I'm surrounded by gajillions of pretty grandchildren) so I think God gave me fair genes when it comes to lifespan, sans crazy truck drivers and, I don't know, people from the past with terrible grudges. I want to be the cool grandma who could say, "Back in the day, we had to learn how to drive cars and stuff" or "when I was in Medschool we had books that we never read" or atleast remember all the things that happened and DIDN'T happen. I'd probably tell the same stories over and over and will have to drop a couple of bucks in the "Lola TIna's Penalty Bowl" everytime I tell the Baguio story (or the other Baguio story for that matter).

I told a friend once that, it feels like we're all just waiting to die, and God only allows us to do these things to keep us busy and from just twiddling our thumbs in between. Maybe keep Him from forgetting -- its hard to keep tabs of, like, everyone, right? So we become doctors, lawyers, teachers... carve something there, jump a few buildings, steal a couple of paperclips from the office, change lives, hurt a few people and hopefully, love some more. So that, maybe, He won't forget about us and let us live a wee bit too long.

Plus, thumb-twiddling do not make good bedtime stories.

Not really in The OC mode, but I found this from an old Wings album I torrented and came across this version by Jem.

Every disturbed and complicated girl's theme, and her fantasy of singing this to someone worth the effort.

Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way You Love Me All The Time
Maybe I'm Afraid Of The Way I Love You
Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way You Pulled Me Out Of Time
And Hung Me On A Line
Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way I Really Need You


Maybe I'm A Girl And Maybe I'm A Lonely Girl
Who's In The Middle Of Something
That She Doesn't Really Understand

Maybe I'm A Girl And Maybe You're The Only Man
Who Could Ever Help Me
Baby Won't You Help Me Understand

Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way You're With Me All The Time
Maybe I'm Afraid Of The Way I Leave You
Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way You Help Me Sing My Song
Right Me When I'm Wrong
Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way I Really Need You

Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way You're With Me All The Time
Maybe I'm Afraid Of The Way I Leave You
Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way You Help Me Sing My Song
Right Me When I'm Wrong
Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way I Really Need You

Feeling a bit of a lazytard as of late. Pre-residency period is done AND DONE, I've presented the M and M for the month of July and August. Which means, pending the written and oral exams, the year is pretty much over. I've yet to get myself blind drunk to celebrate but I'm finding the ways and means to get there, I suppose.

Anyway, while it may look like I dumped my Lola's birthday party for some kopi bun (which I DIDN'T, I decided not to come home because of the effing godawful traffic down south THEN Ian and Joan invited me for coffee), I did what the bored, aimless twentysomethings do on rainy Friday nights and hung around Starbucks Morato for Kopi Bun, overpriced coffee, priceless conversations, Bembol Roco and acquaintances who stop by your table when wanted to NOT talk to them.

All this "ex ng ex" business has been a favorite topic between me and Ian, Joan would stare us down because of the futility but then what is conversation with friends over coffee but an exercise in futility anyway, right? I'm all Jaded Pinkett-Smith because really, who wouldn't with how things are turning/turned out? Anyway, someone has to remind us to stop talking about these things because two days after, its not good. You get all hormone-y and irritated over everything.

Then its about friends who we miss terribly (more of friends *I* miss terribly), how three years is the maximum time allowed for bumming around after graduation from Medical School (this is from Joan who retorts while everyone's starting to stop slacking off and she's getting hitched... as if its a bad thing) and relationships altogether. It was raining pretty bad past midnight and we waited it out some more. Co-residents, blockmates and what we thought of them in Medschool and what we thought of them now, the difference between "Mabait" and "Mabuti" (Ian and I, according to Joan are the former and not the latter... we decided she's neither, haha), money and the lack of it... Then it was 2AM and everyone we knew and stopped by our table (who got there later than we did) were already gone. Then it was about what Ian and Joan thought of me and what we thought of Ian. I'm mostly misunderstood because I have a way with doing/saying things that are contrary to what is acceptable... this according to them. They said its hard to understand my reasons if you've not been with me for more than three years... and very few people can stake that claim, I must admit. Then it was 4 AM and the rain has let up a bit, finally, and we resigned to braving out what was left of it.

These conversations, while caffeinated and easily the ramblings of bored twentysomethings, still made me make this post. Meaning it troubles me, two days after these words have been said. I won't say which parts or even if these parts are within this post at all, but easily, that Friday night might not have been an exercise in futility after all.

(This post was spoken in my brain with a heavy English accent, I don't know why)

*

Finished my tv weekly backlog yesterday. So I'm fully House, Grey's, Heroes and Prison Break updated.

I know.

That Cat Lady from The Simpsons have nothing on me.

Watched Ratatouille in ATC last weekend. ATC's cinema 1 is notoriously faux THX, but dear God, for an Ayala Mall Cinema, Cinema 3 makes you feel like watching a bad pirated version of the movie with Korean overdubs (its INSANE how many Koreans walk around the mall on weekends, I swear).

Anyway, bad sound equipment aside, Ratatouille, like all Pixar movies had a big, universal message somewhere (most probably NOT sanitary food preparation and how important it is) but it lost me when I saw the rats cook towards the end. I mean, ofcourse I knew what the movie was about beforehand, but one rat cooking is different from a whole city-sized population of them. Change should be welcome but Pixar people, this is just too much to take in and swallow.


*

Just for the record, I did watch Transformers when I was young (that and Visionaries and Inhumanoids) and I had the biggest crush on Optimus Prime's VA. But now that I watched the movie and heard the same VA voicing Optimus Prime again, can't help but think of The Hoff. Ewwness.

And just a small nitpick, you ever notice that all Michael Bay films have that same background music usually accompanying the swaggering hero coming to the rescue or about to die or both. I love Michael Bay's films, they're so blatantly driven by testosterone, devoid of pretense that you expect nothing else but the BOOM-BOOM-BOOM baseline of the background tracks and slow motion camera trickery that made Nicholas Cage look like the world still exist because he's walking THAT way. You know, like his balls are just way too big for him not to walk THAT way.

*

You ever notice that break up stories, however and whoever tells them, have the same dialogues between characters? On a brighter note, I think, from the jubilant screams from next door, the Physician Licensure Exam's result is already out. So to the new doctors, congratulations and welcome to the longest, most drawn out summer break of your life.