The Badly Written Sitcom

hmmm...

Oh, look... I'm Friendster again. Sweet. Too all those looking for me and have failed to do so over the past few weeks...well, I've been busy. On my new blog, it explains why.

Before I completely transferred over to the new blog, I've basically used this one to rant about certain people who seemed to made it their singular goal in life to piss me off. I'm not going to do that today...much.

I just want to be straight-forward about this. If you contact me, and I don't respond within two weeks, or if I respond violently, then stop. You're just making things worse by being voluntarily annoying. Don't try to get to me through my friends or my family, cause that's A.) definitely not going to work, B.) a waste of your time, and more importantly, mine, and C.) absolutely pathetic.

Also, if you're one of those people who have caused me a great deal of disappointment or any similar or worse emotions in the past, don't message me like nothing's happened and we're chums or something. that may work on most people, but not to sound in any way arrogant... I'm not most people. I always remember people who's done good to me and I never fucking forget those who weren't. Frankly, I'm just waiting for the time and opportunity to screw you over. Once I get my chance, and I manage to get even... then we could be chums. Til then, fuck off.

To Jo Regis, you have my number. Text me. Let's hang. And apologies to Marvi and the rest of them for missing Erin's birthday. i got in a really messed up situation, I'll make it up to you.

Lastly, visit www.thegeekrevolution.com, and learn something. I'm the guy who cusses a lot, so my posts should stick out like a sore thumb. Til next time, bitches.

A breath of Bad Air.

Guess who's back writing here on friendster? See, I didn't really plan on going back and doing the Sitcom but apparently, the moment I stopped this shitty blog is the exact same moment my blogged gets linked like a mother fucker. Fuck it, I thought, might as well give ym adoring public something o waste two or three minutes of their time with.

When we last left, I was... well, I was trying to quit drinking.

Guess how that turned out?

I have another blog, a more private one, with photos and shit, but let's just say one of my posts got some really bad reviews from my boss (let's just call her "the girlfriend") so I'm going to take a break from that for now. (Though I will be writing here in a few minutes.) Plus, I finally go friendster back on my office PC. Now, I don't know if this is just a one night only thing, so I'm gonna make the most of this rare moment. Hell, I've been checking out most of the profiles on my friend's list, even hose I barely like.

I missed this. You know, just writing and writing and not really saying anything. Fuck.

Saturday night, I'll be getting drunk again. Why? Because it's a more interesting form of suicide, ok?

Anyhoo, barring other technical complicaitons, The Sitcom is back on the air. Enjoy, bitches.

(Shout out to some of the old regular readers, Ed, B, SosoJeff, Ivan (The Human Torch, who just likes big butts and cannot lie.), my kids, The Blind Rage and a few other online transients. Peace out.)

Series Finale

Here it is, what I like to envision as the long awaited 100^th post for The Badly Written Sitcom. Sadly, this is also going o be the Sitcom's final episode. No, I wont stop blogging, apparently no force on earth can do that these days, but I'll just be doing it somewhere else. I've had this problem with writing here, as I've taken the precaution of not naming names. At least in the other blog I'm starting, I get the chance to let it all hag out, since the only people reading it would be those who took the time to search or whatever.

Another of my many reasons to switch is the fact that I am in a far different place now, emotionally, mentally, philosophically and spiritually, than I was when I started the blog. I've blogged here on good ol' Friendster for a measure of two or so years now. I don't really know, but with the drastic changes I've undergone, I just thought moving on would be a fitting thing to do.

Let's just backtrack a bit and look back at a few key points in my life now, all covered by the blog one way or another. I'm 25 years old, going on to 26, though I shouldn't have. I've had a heart attack, a number of hypertension attacks, got run over at least thrice that I remember, and I survived all that. I've been to the North, and then to the South, then back to the North again. I have been a college student, an amateur film maker, a TV slut, a tour guide, a phone monkey, a smut peddler, an educator, and now, an actual writer. I fall in love a lot ad get hurt a lot. And I have been known, on occasion, to enjoy a drink or two.

I've chronicled in this blog my meeting with Mick Foley, watching the fucking Ja Rule concert, my friendship with the Hidalgo Boys, The Scoobies, The Ultimate Production Machine Albert, and The Angels, who I now join amidst the heavens, among a host of others. I've exulted all the people I care about, and insulted every single one that I don't. I've had a couple of crazy former lovers, gushed about love at an extreme level, reminisced and looked forward, and I've told the stories of countless glorious weekends.

I'm a different person now, like my profile says. I don't even wear the sunglasses anymore, neither do I walk around dressed all up in black like I used to. But I still wear the old jacket, I still smile the same old smile, still raise the old middle fingers and still throw around the old”F” word like it was my fucking birthright.

From the first post, which I wrote in a dark editing room in the wee hours of the morning, to this one, written in a well lit office in the wee hours of the morning, I've had some constant readers which I would like to thank for at least making me look forward to writing and waiting for comments and reactions. So thank you, Resty, Ivan, Jeff, Tina, Althea, RJ, Riza, Leven (yo! Contact me. Let's get sinful.), Bianca, Edverlyn, Kathy, and everyone else I've neglected to mention cause they either never commented or I just forgot.

Do still check out the Hidalgo Boys blog, right here on Friendster, and thegeekrevolution.wordpress.com (I am pimping that site like a cheap whore, I swear), and my rare multiply posts.

It's been a great two years of shilling out my bullshit and knowing that there are people out there willing to read. Peace out, bitches.

I'm happy but I snap yet again.

            B, don’t stress out. Truly. Breathe.

            OK, this one’s going to be a short one since I’m basically killing time until I have to step out of the office, and since I’m feeling multiply a bit more right now. Also, I’m thinking about putting up something extra special, extra emo, and extra everything since the next post I post, is is going to be my hundredth post.

            First off, I’d like to do a little advertising. A couple of friends and I are starting a site, and right now we’re doing it on wordpress since we’re raising money for our own domain still, but we already have the content and for those who like reading shit to kill a few idle minutes (and if you’re reading this now, I’m willing to bet a kidney you’re one of those people) check our shit out at thegeekrevolution.wordpress.com. It’s four guys just shooting the shit on various topics. Enjoy the literary magic, kids.

            Secondly, LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE! You know who you are, you crazy, selfish child! I’ll tie up the loose ends, do what I need to do, but beyond that, the only news I want to hear from you is that contains your obituary, just so I could throw a big fucking bash. You want to test my pride? Game on, babe.

            That’s it. See you next post, kids.

            

Looking back on days of headset glory...

            One of the advantages of having as much free time as I do working a writing job during the night shift and having a Friendster account is that it gives one the opportunity to look up people and retrace certain periods of one’s life to review the lessons learned and evaluate how the said learning experience was applied. A couple of weeks ago, I was on a high school kick. Tonight, it’s a fond little place I know as IHG.

            After quitting my post as one of the resident whores from everyone’s second favorite music channel to pursue a career in teaching, I realized that in the months in between I needed money. These days, the quickest legal way to make a buck was work in a contact center. Fate led to a five month stint as a phone monkey at this awesome place where the work is light, the pay is good, and the people are interesting.

            That place taught me a lot. The biggest lesson I learned was than if you regularly drink in excess, the only thing you’d be left with would be more reasons to drink on a regular basis. It’s a fucking vicious cycle I tell you. In line with that, some of the more interesting people you can meet in life would throw up in a big city street first thing in the morning.

            Looking at the pictures of the people I used to hang out with during my headset glory days, I’m surprised that I actually miss a lot of them.

I had a boss that was very nice to me, despite my numerous shortcomings. Actually, I’ve been very lucky with bosses so far in my professional life. I don’t know why.

All in all, I see that stint there as a missed opportunity. I had a chance to make lifelong friends there, but I wasn’t able to. I was too wrapped up in my own shit, and being drunk as much as I was back then didn’t really help much. Hell, I spent Christmas and New Year’s Eve working the phones there, how can it not be special?

I guess I’ll just make up for all that with the people I share my time and office space with these days. Once again I’ve lucked into a pretty sweet group of people. In fact, this is the company I worked in before teaching and after IHG. I came back, so I guess I’m doing a pretty good job of cultivating my relationships here. I guess I’ll just keep on doing that.

On a totally unrelated note, I never had an idea how many people read this, mostly because no one bothers to comment anymore. (Not that I’m complaining, mind you. The gesture would be appreciated though.) Over the past month, every person I’ve bumped into that I haven’t seen in a relatively long time has made reference to this blog. (Actually they made reference to the amount of bitching and moaning I make on this blog.) Well, my happy blogs are now on multiply.com, and my username is thegreatrenethegreat. Two sites, two sides of me. Yeah? Yeah.

Peace out mo’ fo’s.

Oh, snap.

            Not geting tired Resty. Quite the opposite actually. Just practising a healthy bit of catharsis. But for the record, those Columbine kids had it coming.

            To those keeping track, I actually post at least two times a week on a couple of the sites I blog in. Depends on the mood, actually. Like I said on my latest blog post on multiply, the one where I had nothing but glowing words about the absolute soiree my life has once again become, I save my angry posts for Friendster. The reason I stated was that there are more people to rip on here than on my obscure multiply account. Also, I happen to think that this is a great avenue for me to express the fact that I do get pissed off too, to a superlative degree even. In fact, a number of my previous posts were rather hostile.

            Here I go again, blogging about my blogging. Stupid ass concept.

            There are a lot of things I’m not particularly fond of thinking about, but all of them have been long running, never before uttered out loud issues that I’ve decided to finally unload. Hell, I’ve stared the whole honest blogging thing last week, might as well roll with it.

            A lot of people don’t really know much about me, where I come from and all that basic information goodies that mostly are just common knowledge that for some reason I still manage to keep under wraps ‘cause frankly I’m not very comfortable with certain circumstances and the pretty picture I painted on top of all that just sufficed. I always worked under the assumption that people don’t give two shits about any of those details, so I never really bothered about talking them out. So, since this page will most likely only be read by those who do care or a least care enough to devote the spare minutes they have here on the sitcom, I don’t think I’ll have a problem.

            One thing I noticed is that no one really takes me seriously, at some level. Why? I think it has a lot to do with the way I present myself. Admittedly, I’m a fucking cartoon. I’ve been fit into the role of the two-dimensional joker for to long I never really tried to break out of that image. What burns my ass is how some people assume that my supposed carefree attitude equates to ineptitude. I have heard some pretty insulting things that I’ve let slide the past few weeks. It’s starting to get to me. Understand this, I am very much aware of what I’m capable of and if you keep pushing my buttons, you will be too.

Let me present you with a wholehearted “Fuck you!” and allow me to inform you that your head is so far up your ass that the only thing you see are your own guts spewing out the only thing you apparently know: shit. Stop fooling yourself. I’m better than you. I know it, and honestly, you know it. Be happy I’m happy right now.

Then, there’re those people that take comfort in silence. I’ve been betrayed quite a few times in my life, and considering there’s only a handful of people I totally trust, the betrayal rate is astounding. Equally surprising is how people can seem to grasp the concept that an apology is never enough. You sorry, I say fine, and what, that’s it? Would it be my bad for expecting at the very least a gesture of goodwill or an attempt of making things up? I guess an apology, in this world you people move in, erases certain deeds. That’s fucked up if you ask me. You’re fucking deluded.

I’m a self evolved prick, and there’s good reason for that. I was young once, basking under the glory of being part of the God loving community and all that. But shit happens, and I’m afraid at the tender age of who knows how young I couldn’t retain my inner light. I want my fucking light back you selfish, fat bastards!

Why I prefer to do and go through all my shit alone is beyond me. And I’m not looking to find out. I concentrate on the bottom line now, and the bottom line states that if you’re not fucking helping out in the betterment of this life, I’d very much rather just see you in the next.

Ciao, mother fuckers.

(I’m still cheery. I swear. It’s jus that The Badly Written Sitcom has officially become my rant blog. You want to check out the other side, check out the other blogs. Peace out.)

Confessions of an old High School outcast

It's insane. It's 3 in the morning, in my less than honorable job “writing” job, and I suddenly get the urge to look up old high school acquaintances in, of all things, friendster. I just find it a little off, since I never really liked high school, I pretty much disliked the majority of the people there, and I absolutely despise who I was back then. (Wow, this is shaping up to be an honest post.)

Who I was back then is pretty fucking far cry from who I am now. Then again, understand the roots. While the best friends I've made and still have I made in high school, truth is never really liked them all that much back then. Natural thing to hate being so confined in one place for 12 years of life. (Maybe why I can't stay still anywhere for more than a few months.)

The school I came from was one of these old, oppressive, small town high schools that was more conservative and old fashioned than most Catholic schools I've heard about. (That explains how I've developed my distaste for authority figures.)

There wasn't really anyone I could relate to in the majority of my life there. From my singular point of view, they were just really, really odd. Of course, not everyone saw it that way. The place, the entire population I thought, was just strange in its familiarity, their insistence for being ordinary often left me confused and not very sociable. Unlike the persona I carried during college, I was less accepting of what I didn't fully understand. I held their simplicity against, as their simplicity was just too complex for me. They were wrapped up in the most inane things, excited about things that were, again from my own point of view, pointless. (Took me nearly a decade to fully understand what the hoopla was all about.)

When I met my friends, the ones I referred to earlier, I didn't fucking like them either. I was content in my little social bubble, until they forced their way in. It would be years before I would appreciate that gesture, when I wasn't so high strung and uptight. (And less of a “dork” and not quite the outcast.)

Now, apparently, I can't find any of those people. Mainly because anyone that mattered to me are already on my contact list, and frankly, I couldn't remember any of their names. I've been assessing my so called life recently, and after my little quest of high school personalities, smoking a cigarette at 5 AM looking at the slowly brightening sky, it just pretty much dawned on me. (Pun kinda intended.)

I fucking hate that place, and I not particularly fond of the people in that place either. I'm as indifferent to those jerk offs now as I was then, with a few exceptions of course. Maybe I've just been listening to too much of Kim Richey's A PLace Called Home. (The song played in a Season 5 episode of Angel, after the one where Fred died. See, the inner geek never dies.)

I'm done there, and with them, long before I was actually done. Who I was then? Dead. For a long time now. Tonight was my last look back, and while the anecdotes from that time I'll still use to entertain the people in my life now, I'm not particularly itching to relive all that. I understand now, but I still think it's lame. (You go girl, err... boy.)

(Hi Ila.)

Kill hem. Kill them all.

The world is going to hell. Or the world is hell, depending on who you ask. Either way, it's not good.

Though I've never been one to care for the world that is beyond my personal geek revolution, being out in the open as often as I am it would be very difficult to not see the sorry state the human drivel has become. There's this one incident that sparked this line of thought, as I was heading off to work. Taking the usual van going to the land of the bright lights from the south, we were stopped by a young police officer who was, despite what most consider to be nasty weather, doing his job and asked for the driver's license. Apparently, parading around picking up passengers in a vehicle registered for private use only is illegal. So a crime was taking place, and his strapping young lad, bound by duty, was going to make an example of this scumbag. It didn't happen.

The driver babbled on about him and the cop being on some clique, and even approached the beat cop's superior officer about it. The older officer then commanded the younger one to let the driver off without so much as a warning. The driver then handed a fistful of coins to the young cop who was still baffled by his own lack of power, and drove off with a big, stupid grin.

Then the train ride to work. As usual, seeming professionals are reduced to savagery by the commute, and by this time I was sick and tired of it. As I was getting off the tram, some middle aged fat guy blocked my way in an effort to get on the train before all of us who needed to get off at that station are able to do so. The dude just forced himself in, not only hindering our passage, bu also managing to hurt a bunch of people he doesn't know in the process. Total disregard for other people.

I wasn't going to take that lying down. I went on a verbal tirade, attacking the old, plump bastard with words that possessed a tendency to be frowned upon when used in public. Respect the elders my ass. Where I come from, you earned respect everyday, no matter how young or old you are. As I was on the escalator leaving the station, I saw the guy, who was already inside the vehicle, staring at me and even had the audacity to menacingly point a finger at me. The guy was being a total douche, and yet he was pissed at me for pointing out his royal douche-ness. Total fucking bullshit.

In this day and age when people are so morally corrupt, one can't help but strike back. Me, I've never been saint, and I am far from perfect. I know I can be as careless and insensitive with my words and actions more than occasionally. I sure as hell am not saying I'm better than anyone else, but when I look around, I find it very difficult to see anything but reasons to abhor my fellow man.

You have people who lie and cheat, those who trample on everyone else's rights and cares just to establish their own, and they manage to justify their acts as being the norm. Well, your norm sucks. Your way of life is disgusting.

I'm proud of my geeky ways, because frankly, being stuck in a world of comic books, a world where right and wrong actually exist, listening to punk music that scream out words that this society normally doesn't allow to be screamed even just to vent out the many frustrations that are brought upon by everyday living, they're all such better alternatives to the fucked up world  everyone has to put up with. Right now, I lack the insanity to do something to correct this.

But I swear, one day, maybe or maybe not me, but someone like me is just going to decide that he or she has had enough of this shit and decides to take out the trash pretending to be the human race. And when that happens, I will be there.

And I will be having one hell of a good time.

(If you read my blog on Multiply... stop reading) There are Places I Remember...

Second weekend without alcohol, kids. And it was an absolutely good one.

First off… consider the possibilities of an innocent game of nine-ball with someone that’s relatively close to you and having it turn into a pseudo-quasi philosophical debate, relating our playing styles to the way we handle life. Paeng and I engaged in the seemingly low brow activity and ended up uncovering “Rene-ism” and “Paeng-tology”. “Rene-ism” discusses the value of doing things at full bore, with force, stopping at nothing to get what you want. “Paeng-tology” walks the path of lesser resistance, opting to take the slow and sure approach in doing things. It was enlightening. I lost the game… so I guess “Paeng-tology” reigns, at least over the billiards table.

Then, it was off to

Makati

with to visit the land that birthed what is now considered to be the legendary webdate team… the group formerly known for being “Angels”. Being three of the first ones to come along, that little trek brought upon memories galore and a fresh new perspective on where we all stood as individuals and as a group. No “angelic”, noble purpose, just three people who belong to a group of people who, despite the conditions and circumstances during the time, loves and looks out for each other. I also realized, after the three of us tried to list down as many “famous” quotes from the team on a little blue notebook, that I actually am a part of group consisting of the biggest smart asses on God’s green(ish) Earth.

A couple of days later, for some reason, the little-over-a-summer long civil war within the group apparently ends. And though it may not be noticeable with the seemingly dismissive way I handle a lot of things, that fact made me very happy. Happier than any of them could ever imagine.

Remember, I was already out there being an actual teacher, something I really loved doing. It takes something really huge and important to make me leave that. Here I am. And here we are, apparently. Let’s make more memories for the next time I decide to take another stroll to another one of our haunts.

(Anyone who calls me emo because of this post gets a particularly nasty surprise.)                

This and that, just in the name of boredom.

Just when I thought all the challenges are done, new opportunities to fuck up present themselves.

Now that I am sober, I truly feel old. Especially after seeing a group of drunken college students stumble all the way home on an early Sunday morning. “That used to be me” I thought. Ugh. Pathetic. Also, I’ve got these feelings that I usually managed to control because of my constant inebriation. Without alcohol to sedate me, I now come with a wide range of emotions for all occasions. Never knew I was that angry, or afraid.

Reality bites, yeah?

As corny as it sounds, I may be on the verge of another one of those failed romances. I’m doing the hopeless nice guy bit again. Balls. I guess it’s a good thing, especially the whole “I’m getting married on November” bullshit just recently ended. Then again, a month isn’t as recent as it seems. Who knows? I may be on another romantic comedy adventure soon enough.

I totally miss getting drunk.

I’m stretching the creative muscles again. New pet project. This should be fun.

I’ve been watching a lot of “Entourage” lately. Just saying.      

I need a vacation. Somewhere new, somewhere fun, somewhere else.

I realized that I’ve finally come around to accepting the fact that I’m no a college student anymore. Three years after graduating. Better late than never, I guess.

I’m off the hooch and the “Ed Stevens” kick… time to move on to new vices.