The Badly Written Sitcom

“True love, as you defined it, may not really exist. Well, it may have never existed, in the first place! As humans, I don’t think there is no selfless act, and as you know, right and wrong is purely subjective. But hey, I’m in love with my wife and newborn daughter, and hell, even if it’s hard, I’m sure as hell lovin’ every moment of it!”-Resty

Resty recently posted this comment on one of my entries. Now being the lazy fuck that he is, we could all be sure that he meant every word of the above statement, and that conviction actually made him get up and comment on an entry posted a month ago or so.

I’m proud of him for having found that sort of happiness, and like I said before, we should all be so lucky.

I agree, human beings are definitely selfish creatures by nature. I think it’s that innate sense of survival that makes us become total assholes to one another. And people wonder (in a passive non-caring way) why I don’t trust anyone all that much. It all boils down to motivation. If you convince someone properly, you get thhat person to do any damn thing you may very well want.

Understanding wants and needs, however, isn’t really one of my strong points.

There’s a lot of about other people’s drives that i have yet to comprehend. I can’t seem to grasp the reason why I should take this job (or any job for that matter) seriously. Money is money, kids. People make it. What I want, and need, happens to be that much more substantial.

People suck.

PS Love the hair Ed. It’s so you… only better.

      Back in my heyday, there were very few essentials that I couln’t live without. Comics, movies, toys and substance abuse. School gave me all that.So did the whole call center gig.

     A month ago, I started my training at my current job (which a lot of my friends are still betting against me staying any longer). Tonight,the last day of training will comeand go, like most good things. The actual work will begin soon.

    Exactly this time last year I faced the same situation the first time I went out of my comfort zone and worked in a call center. 

     I like having "real" jobs. I meet the most interesting people. I have made friends who remind me of great old friends (which supports my theory that most people come in templates, and that’s not a bad thing) and yet manage to sustain a certain level of individuality, establishing themselves as more. I met people with ideals and cultures and philosophies that are at times directly clashing against my own. I met a tolerable number of idiots, which is good too. I even met this person who looks absolutely perfect in most lighting situations (it’s a weird way of describing people, I know). Perfect. No kidding.

      Point is, now that we’ll all be parting ways somewhat, that I love immersing myself in these scenarios. Not only because I get to have basis for characters, but because these people make the ordinary that much special. They are great characters, and they don’t even try to be.

     Now if we could only have a little more substance abuse.    

     Last weekend… I stayed up for 48 hours and celebrated my second birthday and Resty’s wife gave birth.

     Last weekend… we drank beer, smoked cigars and ate that sisig pizza thing that was surprisingly good.

     Last weekend… I even went to Red Box with Carlo and B to sing. Imagine that.

     God, I feel old. I’m happy for Resty, and Carlo showing another great leap from what he used to be in high school (which wasn’t so bad but still) is endearing.  But I feel old. It’s been seven years. Growing up feels weird.

     I recall all that’s happen with the three of us for the past few years, and all I could do is smile and wonder. We don’t do much with each other these days. We don’t have any "adventures" like the ones we used to, the ones that cause second birthdays and new relationships that are doomed to end in a week or two or those that would cause us to sit in the niddle of the morning at 2 AM singing old OPM songs.

     These days, it’s just coffee. Our beer. Or dinner. Whatever fits the schedule the rest of the world and our own diverse interests impose on us.

     What I like the most is the fact that there are times that our long running friendship manisfests itself, like when Resty points out my paranoia and lack of trust for other people, or when I remind him, in turn, about how his brain apparently stops working when he loses his temper,or how we could always dissect Carlo’s decision making skills when it comes to the opposite sex.

     At the end of the day, on those rare occasions that we get to be together, all three of us, there is no frustrated artist, or chef, or father. There’s just us, subtly needing each other. Why? Because we balance each other out. Our differences somehow complement each other. It’s weird.

      It’s also all I need. This is new ground again, and I can’t wait to see what happens next.

PS No, I did not change my cel number.

The title refers to me writing. It was not an ominous statement that characters say in movies when they are about to do more acts of "heinousities" in addition to the ones already performed. I got up this morning and checked my mail and my friendster without any intention of posting another "bitchfest" on my blog. Granted, this is not a "bitchfest". I was just pleasantly surprised by a newly written testimonial to moi that came from so far under the radar that I am filled with so much gratitude that I overcame my laziness and am now blogging my ass off. Thank you, Via, it means a lot. Next film I make, I dedicate to you.

Next up, Edverlyn. Are you sure you want to see me and Jo again?

Christmas is coming up folks… what are you getting me? Seriously, what?

Not everyone could manage to do it. Not even sure if I can. See, in accordance to my little quest of achieving perfection through mediocracy is even closer now that three weeks has passed after starting with this whole “real job” hoopla. The master plan is this: eliminate all forms of responsibility and complication, simplifying my existence to a point where all my wants are pretty much all my needs. My scheme of recreating my college life is nearly complete, applying all of my previous existence’s basic elements into my newfound “career”.

It’s all about freedom, man. Unlike most people my age, I don’t have any expectations, personal or otherwise. No expectations means I’m free from disappointment. Now that I’m making everything suit me, I’m free from stress. Now that I’ve decided to stop getting into relationships, i’m free from a lot of bad things. (This is the part where people with romantic inclinations collectively disagree.)

I’m babbling. I have a tendency to do that. The fact is, I’ve never had it hard. I’m a spoiled brat, and getting what I want always did come first on my list. The rare occasions that I let my guard, bam! I get stepped on like a rodeo clown on a really bad day. This is me now. Uber-me. I’m not going to be a clown no more. At least not in that way.

Some people may say this is some cowardly reaction from some serious melodramatic trauma, and some people may be right. Avoiding pain and hard work. But this is me, kids. I don’t do hard work. A few years back, a teacher of ine asked me what I expected from college, I said flat out “to graduate without exerting any effort whatsoever”. Took me six years, but here I am, determined to relive all those six years and stretch them out for the rest of my life. So right now, I don’t have the time to do the drama anymore. I don’t have the patience for pretentious bastards, nor the tolerance for meaningless pursuits like affirmation. The point is, I don’t care. And to a lot of poeple, that’s selfish and immature. Hello? I am selfish and immature. Pay attention.

Time is money, kids, and I’m about to spend a lot shit load it the right way. My way.

“I am so good i kick more ass by accident than you do on purpose.”-Christian, on an episode of WWE Smackdown. God, I love arrogance.