If there’s one question I abhor more than any other, it’s the idiotic, “galit ka ba?” Why anyone in his right mind would ask such a question is beyond me. Am I so stoic that you would need verbal confirmation to know if I’m pissed off or not?

What riles me most is that, often times, people ask this question when you’re not even angry. Which leads me to wonder: what is it about my face that makes people think I’m angry?

And notice how people respond predictably with a “galit ka, eh” when you say you’re not.

It’s as if they don’t trust you enough to tell the truth about your own emotions. Seriously, what good will denying my anger do for me? I’m not going to win brownie points from Santa for faking niceness.

If I’m angry, I’ll make sure the object of my wrath knows it. Believe me, you’ll know it good.

I find joy in tormenting people I dislike, especially those unfortunate enough to spark my inner Hulk. I don’t turn green and massive, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m a little more subtle than that, but the destruction will be no less horrifying.

On a lighter note, the Nigerian scam has finally been busted, according to the Yahoo page showing on my sister’s computer screen. It’s a stupid scam, really, promising the recipient a huge amount of money in exchange for helping the poor Nigerian smuggle millions and billions out of his country.

Sucker.

You can’t get something for nothing; that’s the law of this dog-eat-dog world. Don’t expect anything better.

And oh, I’m not angry. I just don’t feel like being nice.

So, while simultaneously battling a persistently painful tooth and forcing a horribly stubborn application to work, I somehow found time to google my ex-crush, M. Espina.

Yes, ex-crush.

I have no exes, so I have to settle for stalking my former crushes. I used to do it with Friendster, then Facebook. Now I go straight to the source of it all: Google.

It sounds stupid, I know, but some days I just get this name in my head and I start looking for that person. It’s random, unexplainable and slightly creepy. But that’s just me on a good day.

Anyway, Google says Mr. Espina is doing well and good in the indie film circuit. Apparently, he’s also a vegetarian with two pet goldfish to keep him company. Interesting. Makes me wonder what Google says about me, but that’s not the point.

And it’s not just him I stalk online. I look for my crushes in high school, college, workplace, etc. I try not to get found out, though, because it would take a looot of explaining to do, and I’m not very fond of that.

I don’t really get a lot of satisfaction out of stalking my ex-crushes online; it’s just something I do to while away the time. I can’t even remember much about Mr. Espina, to be honest. I remember he was thin, took Philosophy, played the bass and was my Editor-in-Chief. Beyond that I can’t quite remember.

So why google the guy? There’s only one possible answer:

*cue Dick “I was born to rape and pillage” Israel’s laughter*

Because I can.

There are days when I question my existence on earth. Some days I have this feeling that a higher being put me on this earth for a reason much bigger than software testing. It’s like I’m destined to do something worthwhile to change the world.

I have a purpose.

So I try to find some way to help the rest of the world. I try to seek out ways to make my life on earth more meaningful. I seek fulfillment and affirmation. I want to help change the world for the better.

Then I get lazy, and it all goes to hell again.

I’m afraid I’m losing my touch.

I haven’t written a lot of things since moving to my own website, and honestly, it’s because I’m finding it difficult to write these days. Which is weird, since I have a separate website that gives tips and advice to aspiring writers.

I’ve never been in such a writing slump — ever. Ever. I’m always ready to write something. Granted, I often go lengthy periods of time without writing anything in my previous blog, but that’s because I’m lazy.

Maybe I’m just forcing myself. Maybe the pressure of wanting to write to fill my website is driving me up the wall. In that case, nothing productive is ever going to come out of this forced post.

Or maybe I just need to vent. Work has been particularly difficult these past few weeks, with my translation project breathing down my neck and the tons of products to test at work. I’m tired, slightly harassed and generally just stressed out.

As such, I declare it time once more to present my controversial Ten Things I Hate™ list. The last time I wrote up such a list, I got hit with this and this. No matter. A couple of lame hate letters can’t stop me from spewing random insults at random targets. Besides, this is my form of exercise. Yes, exercise is one letter away from “exorcise”. It’s probably not a coincidence.

And so, without further drama, here then is my Ten Things I Hate™ for 2008. This might just be the cure I need. Enjoy:

1. The language of the dreaded Feminazi. Yes, I support the fight against chauvinism and gender discrimination, but do take the time to tell me this: what exactly is the substitution of “womyn” for “women” supposed to achieve? Will widespread use of the term “chair” in lieu of “chairman” magically break the corporate glass ceiling? No? In that case, stop forcing me to type stupid things like “he/she” and “him/her” in my articles.
2. Girl Power! Related to number 1. Yes, there are oppressed women all over the world. Yes, we must help them. No, we don’t have to kick men to the curb to do that. Let’s not go for equality, let’s go for equity. Men and women can never be equal, but neither one can claim superiority. We’re two halves that make a whole — is that so difficult to understand? And oh, stop believing in stupid shampoo commercials that promise girl power after a thorough lather-rinse-repeat. Nancy Navalta needs no conditioner, and she kicks ass.
3. Bossa Nova. Stop it, Sitti, stop it. It’s not cute. It never was — at all. I can’t walk through a record bar without seeing stupid albums that promote this stupid music trend. “Hear the greatest Beatles classics … in bossa nova!” Same thing happened when reggae hit the Pinoy music scene. Suddenly anyone with dreads and a thing for ganja was Marley’s bastard son. And in case it isn’t blatant enough, I’m talking about you, Brownman Revival. Your “reggae” cover of VST&Co’s “Ikaw ang Aking Mahal” sucked big time.
4. KC Concepcion. I’m sure the real KC Concepcion is a great girl. I’ve no doubt of that. It’s just that if I see another magazine, billboard or product with KC’s face, I will seriously throw up. There’s such a thing as saturation point, darlings. And oh, stop harping about her “qualities” and “talents”. Give the girl something decent to do and let her prove something for a change.
5. Anti-fans. You’ve seen them lurking around chatrooms and the comments sections of blogs. They join threads about particular celebrities just to spread hatred and insult the celebrity in question. If there are fans dedicated to upholding their idols, then these anti-fans spend all their waking time discrediting these celebrities. I just saw a comment somewhere in the blogosphere that literally called KC Concepcion a liar for owning a Canon instead of the Sony Cybershot she endorses. Umm, big deal. Then there’s the video of Marian Rivera on YouTube, complete and enhanced with musical score and subtitles in case you miss the fact that Dyesebel is the devil personified. Even I’m not that dedicated in my quest to eradicate Jobert Sucaldito.
6. Forum posters who, after maligning their opponent’s lifestyle, gender preference, family or choice of pets, end their ad hominem attack with a smiley face and “peace”. Man, if you’re going to pick a fight online, have the balls to go through with it. To hell with peace and friendship. You can’t just call someone a mother-humper then make it all good with a stupid icon.
7. Steve Jobs. Stop messing with my head, Jobs. Yes, I’ll buy a Nano this Christmas. Happy?
8. Rivermaya (except my beloved Jayson Fernandez). Remember, you had a reality show that sought out a new lead singer for your band. Someone actually won. How about actually letting that someone sing? To be more forward about it: let Jayson Fernandez take the center stage, dammit.
9. People who still idolize Willie Revillame. What the hell is wrong with you? I can’t figure out how such a person can continue to command an audience.
10. Lifestyle pages. In a country where majority of the population have to subsist on salted water and NFA rice, it’s just too horrifying to even think of purchasing a bag whose price can actually feed an entire village for months. Boo!

I’ve run out of steam.

I was supposed to write about television — one of the biggest influences in my life — when my dad came in and started ranting about my mom.

I love my dad; in fact, I love my family. It just sucks a lot that the entire clan’s (maternal side) weird and dysfunctional. And when I say “weird and dysfunctional”, I don’t mean that in a cute way. I’m saying we’re all really somehow damaged emotionally or mentally, and that’s not even the entirety of it.

As my maternal grandmother used to say, she went a little crazy back when she was younger, after four of her kids died consecutively. Ergo, when she gave birth to the rest of her kids, they all came out a little funny in the head. It’s the secret family recipe.

In case you’re wondering, none of us has ever been committed to the asylum. We’re pretty good at hiding our “flaws”. I’m no better than the rest of my family really, having been diagnosed by my younger sister (who’s taking up BS Psychology) with Obsessive Compulsive disorder. I can’t stop fixing Rubik’s cubes, checking the refrigerator door, cleaning my ears and rearranging tables in MS Excel.

Most of the family’s been sent to a popular psychiatrist in this country, and the joke’s that he has an entire filing cabinet dedicated to the clan alone.

We’re a little like a sitcom, a little like Arrested Development, except we never had the money to begin with. Everyone’s got a bit of a quirk. Everyone’s weird and unexplainable and not always acceptable in polite company. Even the best of us are slight nuts. The Addams Family would’ve skulked away in shame.

I’d rather not go into length about the family’s weirdness. That would be tantamount to treason. Let’s just say we drive each other crazy, and not always in a good way.

Maybe someone should make a movie out of this.

I’ve been listening to Sara Bareilles constantly these past few days.

It’s not that I’ve given up on rock. That’s not even a possibility at all — my children will be air guitar-ing to Enter Sandman before they can walk.

It’s just that I’m not exactly in the mood to rebel right now, like I don’t have any strength left. My general aura right now is reeking with tiredness. I’m just tired. Completely, utterly tired. It comes as no surprise, therefore, that I had no choice but to give in to three days of near complete bed rest. I had no choice; just thinking made my head hurt.

The problem, though, is that tiredness is a general symptom of old age. I’m 25. Good Lord.

My mom, in particular, repeatedly reminds of this old age problem. Everyday she takes a look at me, asks me how old I am and shakes her head. “You should me married” is still ringing repeatedly in my ears.

I’ve learned, though, that saying I’m allergic to men is open to various scandalous interpretations. I know this from experience, having survived a mountain of accusations against my “gender preferences”. Once and for all, I am not interested in women.

I want to say I’m not interested in human beings in general, but that’s open to even worse interpretations.

At dahil sa kombinasyon ng katangahan, katamaran, pagod at di wastong oras ng pagkain, tumba ng dalawang araw ang kadalasa’y walang kasing-tibay na si Miss Choi. Wala na yatang sasakit pa sa sitwasyong gutom ka ngunit halos isuka mo ang bawat subo. Talaga yatang may sense of humor ang Diyos at nakaisip pa nang ganito ka weirdong sakit.

Ewan ko lang kung natatawa Siya habang dalawang araw akong namimilipit sa sakit at lunok ng lunok ng Zantac na parang tanga. Hindi tuloy ako nakanood ng Kung Fu Panda. Hmmph. At tatlong araw na kong walang kape sa katawan.

Pero magaling na ko. Yun lang.