FOR RENT: BUDDHA-WITHOUT-THE-WISDOM'S BODY... ANY TAKERS?

*Photograped by my friend Jaime Orogo in Pio Duran, Albay.

Summer time is here. Yep! Hurray for the Beaches!!! But… the freaking hotness of summer is hell. It’s just too much! Eerrr. I feel like I’m the biggest-walking sweat gland on earth (that is if there are other walking-sweat glands that exist). Oh mai gawd… I hate the heat! I sweat up a storm when it’s summer. The only time I enjoy the heat is when I’m in the beach. I never enjoyed sweating profusely inside my room because of heat. Right now, as I type this sentence, the Google City Temperature meter/tool/gadget (whatever it is fucking called - I really don’t know) in my desktop registers 33 deg Celsius. That’s freaking hot!!! I have to carry two handkerchiefs with me, one on each side pocket of my shorts. The sweat glands from my head to toe, especially in my hands, are all celebrating and are partying with sweats. Sweating is perfectly normal, I know. It plays a very important role by maintaining our bodies temperature by cooling us down…blah blah blah. I learned it in Sineskwela. But at the rate my sweat glands are working, it seems like it is some kind of a strange disorder. And yes, they say occasionally sweating too much can be a sign of medical problem. I know I have halfzeimers (? That is half-Alzheimer’s), I am hypertensive, I have a slight psychological disorder, I’m alcoholic, and what else….is stupidity a form of sickness? Arrgg. Sometimes I think I was mistakenly placed in the Philippines, by whoever that is who places things and people on earth. Whoever that is should have placed me somewhere cold…. where ice and snow exists…someplace like, ammm… Alaska. Yeah. And I want to go to Sitka.

:-( Here I go again.

People - that is my friends, and others who exist around me, have been wondering why someone unemployed, non-working, useless jerk like me exists and continues to live without a regular job? I went to Bam’s place last Wednesday and had a “little-drinking-session-with GrandMa”. That is Grand Matador Brandy, to people who don’t know. There were only four of us drinking; Bam, Anne, Ghie and myself. Actually, there were only 3 of us since Ghie only had a single shot and went up to her apartment and never came back. Serge, who initially said he’ll be coming, didn’t show up for some reason that I can’t remember. Chris had to go with his family to Batangas that night (I‘m not sure but it starts with a B, wherever that is I forgot). And Belle, the new mom, who sent me a message some hours before I went to Bam’s said she’ll be coming too - but like Serge she never showed up. Anyways, going back to our drinking session, I was bombarded with high-energy-intriguing questions about my capability to survive without a job. It was like I was seated in the BUZZ Hot Seat. Ok… I’ll make the story short: they asked me if I have a “Sugar Mommy.”

What the fucking question is that??? I laughed really hard! Harharharhar….

And then I passed out.

I don’t have a supporter, and I am not that complete bum like they think I am. They wonder why I am able to buy things… and still have a little something to spend for out of town trips. People… I am working. Y es, I am using my body to make money. Hahaha… Hello??? Will anyone ever be interested to Buddha without the Wisdom‘s body? (Yeah, I know some people swoon over me, but of course I am just kidding when I said they swoon over me). Come on! I have a job but it’s something that I cannot tell anyone. It’s a secret. And just like James Bond, I would have to kill you if I tell you what my job is. Scared? Ok… I am not working. I just have a little savings and I would have to find a regular job soon. Maybe go back to Convergys, or apply someplace else. Really dunno. I don’t want to make plans anymore. I hate disappointing myself with unaccomplished plans, and I hate it even more when I disappoint my loved ones. Planning is no longer part of my second-rate vocabulary. I am learning now how to do and react on things as they go. I now play it by ear.

I was supposed to go to Angeles City yesterday. But I decided not to go. I felt like it would be best to stay at home and surf the web. I got myself a new game in my laptop! Weee!!! Actually, it is the first and only game my laptop has. Grand Theft Auto that is. Ok…ok…. I know it is not a new game and I shouldn't be so proud and happy about it. But I'm old-school! I admit it! Until now I still find it really hard to navigate the game. Fuck! I have never played a computer game since I was in College. The only game I learned to master was Star Craft Broodwar. And That was only it. I remember I had to delete the whole game from our pc when I was in my 4th year college. A report had to be submitted overnight, but the fucking computer that we had (it‘s completely dead now) would not allow me to finish my report without freeing some diskspace in its RAM. Several unnecessary files where already deleted but it still did not do the trick. As much as I hate to delete the game, I had no other choice but to do it. Fuck. And that was the end of my computer gaming career.

Oh, by the way, some night last week (I believe it was Thursday night), I had a really really freakin-bad dream. I had a nightmare. It scared the hell out me, for real. This is what happened in my dream:

(Cue: Soundtrack of Night f the living Dead, here)

“I was sleeping in a bed with a woman, who I do not know - probably a bar girl. I was on her left side, and on her other side was a cute little boy who I think starred in some TV shows or movie. Ok… I was half awake in my dream. I saw the boy looked on the woman, and said “Serbidora” in a very childish-cute-way. The woman opened her eyes and smiled at the boy. The boy slowly moved closer to the woman like he was about to give her a good night kiss on the cheek. To my surprise he slowly bit on the woman’s neck and sucked out blood, then slowly feasted on the woman‘s neck. I pretended to be asleep as I watch the boy eats the girl (hmm… I think that last sentence sounded like porn…boy eats girl’s ***bleep***…yeah). Then the boy turned his attention to me (now the heterosuxual porn becomes gay…oh my goodness). The boy climbed on the woman’s dead body while his eyes were pinned on my chubby neck. The innocent looking boy was smiling with blood on his face, and slowly moved closer to me and said the same exact word, “Serbidora…”, and I punched him. The boy’s face flattened on the pillow. But he slowly climbed again up the woman’s body towards me, as if he was not hurt at all by my punch. I wanted to get myself up from bed but I couldn’t. The boy goes, “Serbidora…” again and was coming closer to my face like he was going to kiss me too (oh yeah…it sounds like a gay porn), but I punched him again. The same thing happened 4 times, until after the 4th time I punched him hard, the boy got up quickly and transformed into an evil-looking-baby-boy (parang tsanak) and screamed “SERBIDORA…!!!” like he was ready to swallow me whole. I screamed and punched the boy-monster repeatedly.”

I woke up from the bad dream still punching the pillow in my mother’s bed. I was really scared I got up quickly and rushed to the door. Putang-ina talaga, men, promise!!! I told my sister what I dreamt about, and she laughed. I told her Serbidora will follow her to her apartment in Boni, but she said “Ulol, dyan lang yan si serbidora noh, humanda ka kasi my sequel pa yan!!! Bwahahahah!!!”

That is the scariest nightmare I ever had. Whew…good thing I survived the attack.

But what is that “Serbidora” about? Of all words, why did the monster-child in my dream kept on saying Serbidora? I can’t find any relevance of that word in my dream at all. Could it be the woman I was sleeping with was a serbidora from some club? Maybe. But what the heck… it’s just a nightmare. Drop the topic.

You probably notice I kept on switching from one topic to another. I don’t have much story to tell today.

Shit.

A friend (the one related to BB and Robin) told me she likes my blog. She said I wrote something that made her cry and that she felt the emotion that I injected in it. I was really surprised to hear that my writings made someone cry. But duh?, I’m not even impressed with my own work. She was drunk when she told me that, I guess that’s why she said it, hahaha. I write for my own satisfaction. I have so much angst and pains inside that has to be vented in whatever way before the torturing heat blows inside and destroys me completely. Writing about what I feel and what makes me sad is like a quick fix to my sufferring. It makes me feel better even for just a nano-second time. Ok, I’ll stop from here.

I am happy. I need to be happy. I am happy now. Yes I am! And I am not pretending to be happy, promise!

I WANT TO GO TO BORA!!! SOON!!!