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Sarcasm Aside

random thoughts of a self-diagnosed neurotic with the attention span of a five-year old... a blog by Alternati

Chapped Lipped, Soaking Wet and Flat Broke...

Tuesday, July 18, 2006



There is an old wives' tale that says... "All bad things happen in threes". You hear about such incidences in the news, you feel sorry for the fellow it happened to and a couple of minutes later you're watching Spanglish on HBO as if nothing happened. To actually have three bad things happen to you consecutively is devastating!

Episode 1: The Chapstick Incident

1830 hours. Circa one week ago. Just finished another day at the office, I was in an FX on my way to a friend's house. I distinctively remember hearing a cheesy Ilocano melodrama on the taxi radio. The type of radio program where the audio actors emote way too much and there are probably two supposed sound technicians walking with extra heavy shoes and slamming a door to demonstrate the theatrical walk-out of the main character's mistress... or something like that. Anyways, I recall twirling my favorite lip balm (the green minty one) in my hands like a baton looking at the dingy corduroy car seats when the taxi came to a startling stop (I almost went to first base with the passenger seat head rest... ullk). I was frantically rummaging thru my bag for the fare having seen that I was a couple of houses away from my destination. I paid, went out and as I was pressing the door bell realized that I wasn't holding my Chapstick. Drats.

Episode 2: The Umburglar (Part I)

1900 hours. Yesternight. The first day of my two week leave. I met up with a couple of girlfriends for coffee. Tine, Dona and I were having a fabulous time talking about everything from board exams to babies over brewed coffee, Marlboro lights and dessert. The waiters that night went from the good, to the bad, to the downright ugly. It was sometime during our conversation about that psychic that went on "Deal or no Deal" (with actions please) that I made a mental note to secure my umbrella from the table beside us. Earlier that evening, I came to the coffee shop unfashionably early and was seated, after a century of waiting, on a dreadful table. A couple of cigarettes and twelve Text Twist™ correct six-letter words later, the table in the corner by the windows cleared up. With ashtray, bag, and cup & saucer in hand(s), I moved. I however, forgot to relocate my umbrella with me... the tail end of typhoon Florita was still over Baguio. Dona sort of knew the occupants of the table I evacuated earlier. Frenemies. The frenemies left during my coffee refill. It was about five minutes later that the umbrella mental note beeped, I gazed under the vacant table and Voila! the umbrella has evaporated. Blasted Umburglar!

Episode 2a: Blame It On The Batteries (Part II)

2030 hours. Still Yesternight. After a Session Road hike while throwing bitching comments in the air over my stolen chartreuse umbrella, Tine and I were saying goodbye to Dona at the SM lower ground escalator. We were gonna do some late night hygiene product shopping. I ended up buying another umbrella. At the cashier's counter, Tine wanted to test the eyebrow trimmer she was eyeing before flipping out her SM advantage card. A saleslady told her to pay for it before testing it (huh?). Anyways, that's what we did. Over the UCB fragrances at the nauseous scents-intermingling-in-the-air perfume counter, the lady was opening the tightly sealed trimmer with a translucent pink cutter. I half expected the product not to work and to my surprise, it didn't! The saleslady was jerking it this way and that and finally came to the remarkable conclusion that it was because of the AAA batteries Tine bought to test it. For crying out loud! This lady must be kidding me. That's when I experienced the tedium of the bureaucracy of Customer Service. We were following this poor purple clad saleslady, named May, around the department store being passed from person to person, all happening near closing time. Blah blah blah... It all ended with Tine hesitantly accepting a replacement eyebrow trimmer. I'm happy to report that she SMSed me saying that it finally works.

Episode 3: Mr. Non-Brightside

1700 hours. This afternoon. I woke up late to a messy room. I promised I'd wake up early today but I had had had to do a marathon of the first season of Grey's Anatomy. I was supposed to fix my room today to look for my wallet that's been reported AWOL for a day and a half now. I can't bear thinking about what I have to go through to replace the IDs and licenses I had in that wallet so I pried myself off my bed. I literally turned my bed over and several other furniture in my room (and some parts of the house), searching in vain for that darn wallet, while Fiona Apple sang out of my radio. At about 5 pm, I called the search party off. I realized that I should be saving my energy for queuing and for filling out forms, replacing all the stuff in there that I've lost. On the bright side, my room is sparklingly clean. There is no bright side when you lose your wallet. Dang it! I'm so f***ing... (what's English for burara? scatterbrained? Thanks Geeyoe).

Notice to the public: If you see a green chapstick in a taxi, a bitch with a chartreuse umbrella or a black pirated Girbaud wallet please inform me immediately! (except maybe for the lip gloss, wouldn't want to touch that now) This three-bad-things-happening-to-you is real and highly contagious.

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