Failcut

Okay, so I got a “trim” from my favorite barber in the mall yesterday and, I didn’t notice this when I was checking my newly-done hair out in front of the barber shop’s mirror, but it seems like the guy who did my hair missed a spot on the right side of my head just above my ear. Now, I have a weird-ass patch of uncut hair that sticks out in that area.

I guess this is what you get for frequenting a barbershop that offers 70-peso haircuts. I don’t really care much about it though. I mean, besides the fact that my hairline’s receding anyway and the fact that the fucking fabric monstrosity that is my hair grows an astounding 2-inches per minute, I never wanted to be that guy who spends more than 100 pesos for a haircut and wears nauseating amounts of product to set his hair.

(If you fit any of the criteria I’ve highlighted above, then I’m sorry. I don’t think we can continue to be friends. Also, if you have man bangs or highlights and you consider yourself to be straight, I strongly feel that someone should take you into an empty warehouse and beat you within an inch of your life with a sock filled with a bar of soap and metal washers. After which, a pack of rabid, angry dogs should be let loose upon you and take turns urinating in your hair only to be called off only after you realize how retarded you look with your man bangs and highlights.)

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The Philippine Blog Awards 2008. I am nominated for a Pizza-sounding award.

Because of the sheer stress brought upon me by work and because, as a blogger, I was and will never be one to concern myself with such trivial things like referrers, page views, unique hits* and what not; I have been completely out of the loop as far as current events in the local blogosphere would go.

(*lie. I get around 4,000 page views a day–56% of which originate from the United States and 12%, interestingly enough, comes from the Middle East. Also, traffic spikes on my blog determine whether I’d be happy and functional throughout the day or end up skipping work, staying at home to play with this thing between my legs that looks like a cock, only smaller. Usually while watching new videos at iyottube.com)

I do have Web Analytics tags set up on my blog and, about a week ago, I noticed that I have a handful of visitors jumping in from The Philippine Blog Awards site. I noticed that someone* has nominated me for The Blogger’s Choice Award.

(*me)

The Philippine Web Awards isn’t exactly new to me. In fact, if you click this link, you’d know that April Last year, The Man Blog, a site I am co-founder of was a finalist for The Best Entertainment blog. In the end, we lost to a stupid blogger who writes about Pinoy Big Brother, something that resulted in me walking out of the RCBC amphitheater, the picture below being taken, and my place as the sorest loser this side of Asia being cemented in the annals of history after the aforementioned picture was used as the header for the Philippine Blog Awards website:

After the fact that I was, again, nominated in a category brimming with nominees I could so easily lose to*, my initial reaction was something to the effect of “Fuck all of you, my blog is the shiz! Who cares about your stupid award? Suck my balls! What’s the number to Yellowcab’s delivery service? I’m fucking starving here.”

(*not really. I mean ·´`·.¸.» j u l i a ·´`·.¸.» Seriously? Come on. Am I missing something here?)

Days passed and I forgot about the entire thing until I noticed more traffic coming in from the Philippine Blog Awards site–again because I was nominated for the “Blogger’s Choice Award”, at this point, I thought to myself “Shit! I have to win this award. I’ve never really won anything after I won the spelling bee back in grade school. The award sounds like something they’d serve over at Shakey’s so that’s cool. Besides, there might be a prize associated with it. I’m hoping it’s bag of anti-depressants because I’m going crazy here and I need to get high off of something and I can’t afford to see my shrink and ask her to write me xanax scripts.”

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Semcon 2008, sorry.

Friends, I have a confession to make: There is a huge disparity between the life I chronicle in this great blog and the real life I live. You see, in this blog, you read about an overweight 26-year-old man who has a menagerie of mental and emotional dysfunctions that range from anxiety to borderline psychosis–conditions which, in effect, causes me to sometimes break down, cry and masturbate with a vigor that, aptly enough, is akin to that of mental patient for no particular reason.

What I don’t tell you enough is that I am a pretty successful mid-level executive for an US-based Internet 500 top retailer. Here’s the short version of how that happened: Because of my charm, my ambition and my intelligence, I was able to rise above considerable poverty to attend a private grade school school where I got the distinction of getting the highest National Elementary Aptitude Test score in my district.

After high school, because of my shrewd, devious influence, I was able to get into the medical program of one of the better medical universities in the country where, after two years, because of the unhealthy obsession I had for video games, I dropped out and easily got a Marketing degree from a not-so-prestigious business school.

Finally, because of sheer luck, a kind job market and alcohol-induced casual calmness which employers mistook for confidence I was able to land key positions and jobs that got me where I am today.

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Clubbing, self-loathing

So, I went “clubbing” (God, I hate that word) with some of the marketing managers and employees from work right? What can I say? well, the swanky, super exclusive club we went to somewhere in the fort area leaves a lot to be desired if you’re someone who has read even just one book in your lifetime.

I seriously feel like I’d be more “in my element” in a Mexican jail cell than in clubs, because at least I watch those prison documentaries they run on National Geographic, I find Mexican men attractive and experimented with anal sex at one point in my life.

I’m not exactly as adept in dealing with people who wear their collars up, use too much hair product and have dragons printed all over their pants who dance with attractive women while nursing cocktails

God, I hate clubs. And the fort.

Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not claiming to be the “It guy” of Quezon city and its non-bars or whatever. It’s not like I hung out with Kuya Germs and banged starlets  left and right after hours of clubbing and doing drugs but I feel perfectly comfortable in QC bars. I could buy a couple of Red Horses from the Sari-sari store across our house and then go out and to one of the hole in the wall bars within ten kilometers of our village. Or, I could even drink alone in the porch, send SMS’s to my drinking buddies and, within minutes, have multiple options in terms of where to go via friends who are already out drinking.

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