Damned In Blue

The ISO is such a bitch. The organization that is supposed to standardize work process and make production as orderly as possible actually does the opposite: confuse the process and alienate workers. At least this worker. Organized person, I am not. Our team will create a presentation of the positive feedback and activities each project has received an performed throughout the past few months. Why our team, I don't know. Maybe it's punishment for me being absent this one meeting about, you guessed it, ISO. I'm desperately trying to fit in part-time work in between this fast-paced schedule of mine at the moment. So far, it's going well, unless I find myself coughing my way back to bed with a crazy fever. Overworking is never good to yourself, kids. Finished writing the third letter while riding an FX. Not the most romantic or idyllic of places to write a heartfelt note, but hey, it's the content that counts. And after her reading all the letters, it was somehow worth

The plan has been set to motion. Finalized everything with just a click of a mouse button and the plan will take effect a week and a half from now. Despite it all, I'm sure gonna miss a lot of things. In line with this, I treated the guys to a lunch out. Originally, the idea was for everyone to buy their own food. But since they goaded me like hell to treat them, and with all things considered, I spent more than enough to make the talking heads happy. Painful on the pocket, but what the hell. Note to self: I will never, ever ride the MRT on a Wednesday night. Holy shit. After that treacherous travel on my way to girlfriend's house, I realized that I forgot to bring the letter that I was supposed to give her last night. All I brought was the second letter in response to the first one. But since I forgot it, there's no point in having her read the second. Because of that, I am in line for a third letter.

There are two things I currently hate doing: writing travel blogs for a part-time gig that was due months ago and forcing myself out of bed early in the morning. The latter I struggle to do on a constant basis. Waking up is an equivalent of having a shriveled corpse rise up from the grave. I'm eating breakfast with my eyes closed and I can't remember a damn thing before I enter the car and get dropped off at the office. Work started out just like any other day at the office: check e-mails and watch out for client mails with scathing remarks, update documentations, coordinate with the new employees and see if they are still in the loop with the project, assist the current workers to continue with their work progress, and repeat. So yeah, it's a cruel cycle that bores even the ascetics to tears. Boss and I had a candid talk about my plan in her fortress a floor below our office. And so it went. After work has been done, I wrote a lengthy piece about July, which for me has bee

After that horrible Sunday evening, despair struck twice when I opened my company mail the next morning and read another discouraging message from the client. Great. All I needed was another voice reminding me how much I suck. Kill me now. Speaking of having me murdered, the day at the office won't be complete without the tiresome and retarded banter of my female co-worker. However, instead of her incessant ramblings about the same nonsense everyday, she talked about a real and legitimate problem, i.e. grounded on actual events and not based on speculation and flights of fancy. Well, it's about time, goddammit! If she could stop being annoying, then she might actually become a real person. I talked to the higher ups about my plans. So far, so good. Things are unfolding according to my expectations. The day capped off with a visit to the girlfriend's house and cooked spaghetti using the leftover sauce from last weekend. Despite the scattered rain showers during the afternoon

Last June marked the first time for more than a decade that my cousins from San Diego came back to tear this country a new asshole. And by ripping the earth a fresh shit crevice, I mean getting ass-drunk and puking brains, hitting on Filipina women, and just "making it rain," as my US Army cousin told me, referring to showering wads of cash to strippers like a confetti parade. In a nutshell, they did things I never have done, and will not do, in my entire life. The drinking, I can tolerate. Hell, I can shoot straight that disgustingly rad mix of vodka, rum, and Sprite on a tall glass as a result from a booze game them Fil-Ams introduce to this islander, no problem. So help me God, I almost crashed, burned, and pirouetted on my own vomit. But that I have been accustomed to self-destruction with alcohol before, so it's an acknowledged mistake that I am always more than happy to commit every time. However, I draw the line with women. I respect the kind of vice my cousins are