One who eats well, lives well.
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turning 27 is a pretty quiet affair... i guess at this age, one might be tired of all those drink till you drop, or big party celebrations... oh well.
Hello everyone, I've come out from one of my successful hiatus (finally!). I haven't touched this blog for half-a-year. How are things here lately? It looks like everyone is dead... oh my ghulay...
Maintaining a blog is hard nowadays... well, for me of course. There are some people are comfortable doing it. They are gifted ones with the power of words and a bunch of ideas in my mind put together to form a great post, so great that everyone steals them and claims the stolen entries as theirs (okay, that's the sad part) but it doesn't stop most authors to make astounding entries.
With the proliferation of this so-called hype called Facebook, it made matters worse. I got to the point that I never responded to game requests because I'm too busy with my FarmVille, Mafia Wars and Vampire Wars. But after the great flood, thanks to Typhoon Ondoy, I got back to my senses that I should not dependent to those games.
So... what should I post? Posting for a nerdy introduction sounds bland.
Maybe I'll save my words for later, when the inspiration strikes...
Good day.
I hate the cold. I'd rather wake up sweaty than shivering. I'd rather walk on a cloudless, scorching summer day than in the rain.
Preferences, of course. Weakness? Maybe.
It's so cold I don't even need a fan at night and I still wake up with my skin prickling from the cool damp air. But I look at this as a chance to train myself against the cold.
I could use a sheet. Or wear a thicker shirt. But no. I resolve to wear sando and shorts in the house, regardless of the cold. I will learn to love the cold. Even if it kills me... or gives me the sniffles. 
Hello blog. I miss you. It's been awhile, so let's start it off slow.
I'm watching castle over at videostic.com
Stana Katic is hot.
It's hard to be me. Hard to keep up with myself and my daily procrastinations that I know would very well lead to a crappy future (according to my standards).
It starts today. I'll be serious, starting today. Godbless to all.
--and it's a shame that I only thought of doing so when I'm about to whine, again.
Yet I wish I were only whining. It's not simple when my simple problems get me stuck in the mental mire that has me stubbornly despairing over why such things happen to me in the first place instead of learning something from it or finding meaning in it. Such problems are easy enough in themselves in terms of what to do about (it's usually doing nothing), but I have no psychological defenses to the simple bad luck I seem to attract.
It seems I don't have to do anything to gain the attentions of perverts. Normally, that shouldn't bother me as I can't control other people's reactions to myself, but I've lived life by not attracting attention I don't expect or worked for. I never wait for anyone to notice me because I have a habit of moving through life like I'm not supposed to be noticed, then pat myself in the back for being quietly brilliant (except when I'm not).
But I don't like how I've more personal encounters with perverted men than I have male friends in my life.
Sometimes I wonder if it's karma for the times I perv on fictional male characters and the occasional male actor, but whatever I do is harmless to anyone but my own health (usu. due to staying up late reading slash fanfiction). And sometimes I end up thinking all men (loved ones excepted) are useless animals. Both thoughts are wrong, and I don't even have to spend one second trying to justify them because they're completely irrational.
I just don't know how to find a way not to be disturbed about the horrible treatment I get from them.
Do I think too highly of men? I know familiarity breeds contempt and this may apply to my sex, and I may have some unconscious misogynistic thoughts courtesy of our post-Spanish colonialization patriarchal culture and some painful experiences from women. But do I think more highly of men than I do women? Can't I not expect men (as themselves in a personal level and not from the capacity of an institution) to be capable of dirty dealings towards myself like some women have done?
Despite that line of thought there, I still can't believe the psychological suffering I'm going through just because some men have randomly wasted time on sexually harrassing me. I wish there was a way for me to just accept it rather than trying not to think about it, and failing, which would account for this fucking entry.
