The Badly Written Sitcom

     Last two days of the year and here I am… trying to recall everything that’s happen the past two weeks. Due to several unpleasantries, I’ve been drinking non-stop up until last night… where I spent I quiet night with a few new friends. Two weeks of drinking. Good thing I keep a journal… cause everything is just a blur.

     But, reviewing my journal, what I could piece together  from the raucious events. Basically, it was a visitation of all the places and people that made the past year so damn memorable.

     2006 is now up there with 1998 as the best years of my life, and I’ve had a lot of good years in my short and storied existence.

     I quit a job I didn’t exactly love and a relationship that’s crazier that the second weekend of November. I’ve rebuilt friendships I’ve lost. I worked shortly as a spammer but became an Angel for life. I moved back to the South, making way for more legendary moments with the boys. I became a teacher and met a brand new set of kids to teach and learn from.  I rediscovered an entirely new level of mushiness I never knew I was capable of achieving. I’m happy, all things considered.

     Indeed a good year. What does the next one hold? Since I believe in balance, I bet it’s going to suck tremendous amounts of ass.

     At least now, I’m not alone.

     I survived my little "business trip", but I did not escape my annual Holiday season depression. To those who are unaware, I’m not exactly the jolliest person during the jolliest season of the year. It was during the holidays that I became an atheist, first got heart complications, got hit by different moving vehicles in different periods of time, and all that. This doesn’t have anything to do with the latest brush with heartbreak, but I’ll get to that later.

     In order to deal with the annual state of "fucked-up-ness", your boy engaged in a string of crazy, sleepness, alcohol-filled nights involving reunions, secret evil deeds, strip joints, well intentioned advice, road trips, public bathrooms, and all that good shit that pretty much left me tired, ill, but more refreshed than ever.

    A big thanks to Jeff, Lea, B, Cholo, Kathy, and my boys from the South.

    Misery loves company after all… and if that company happens to produce dozens of new tales of inebriated adventures… then we’re all a lot less miserable I think.

    But, the season is just beginning, and the craziness just needs to be sustained until we all survive. So with that, I start the  campaign to save  my sanity. I have decided to start dating again, and I’ve tapped all my friends (and hopefully you, the reader, participates as well) into finding me a girlfriend before my 25th birthday. Now, I know I’m not a great catch… so it’s up to my people to sell me.

    What’s the point of this grand experiment? I’d like to find out a few things, like whether or not the holidays do bring out the loving side of people, even those whose hearts don’t work as good,and if alcohol really is better than all this love bullshit.

    Merry Christmas, bitches.

     Being an official "grown up" now, I’ve just been sent on my very first "business trip". Much to my own chagrin and to the chagrin of the so-called balance in my life, my superiors at school decided to mess with my equilibrium to send me to a week long seminar that would turn me into an over-all better teacher.

    I’m grateful and all that, trust me, but the thing is, spending an entire week without the people I love down South and with a handful of PhDs and Masters in one hotel in Ortigas tends to be too much. A day or two is great. But a week?! Overkill mon frere.

    I’ve learned a lot though, in the past few days I’ve been cooped in good ol’ Richville Hotel. I can say my teaching skills (which is next to nil, unless you count the beerhouse wisdom none of the other professors can offer) are now 30% improved.

     Stuck in the sea of think tanks. Fuck.

     The only silver lining in this very dark and depressing cloud (aside from the self improvement of course) is I’m just blocks away from "the angels". Those who are uninformed of the identity of "the angels" in question, may I direct you to the latest pictures in my profile. That’s us, in all our angelic glory.

     Another good thing about this (gee, listen to Mr. Brightside over here) is that absense makes the heart grow fonder. So The South’s craziest teacher could expect more than a few hugs upon his anticipated return.

     Not very bitchy today with the rants. I don’t know. Things are good, I guess.

     Apparently "the angels" didn’t know about my heart condition. Ha. 

     Another month and I’m 25. Tick tock.