Let's see.
I.
I got back to Cagayan de Oro yesterday, fresh from a heady night of wine-ing with Obi wherein I ended up in one couch, him in another, both of us with no recollection at all of how we got there. Let the speculations begin.
Anyway. The night before, my boss specifically told me that one of the projects I was handling was going to have what is called a field day the next day. I forget the details, but when you hear the terms field and day used in the same context as advertising and / or marketing, it could only mean a whole lotta work for me. So against my better judgment, and the proddings of an as-yet sober Obi, I agreed to show up at work the following day after my flight.
This was, as you could well imagine, a really, really bad decision. Upon arriving at the office fresh from my welcome-back-to-the-ends-of-the-earth meal at JRJ Fried Chicken, I discovered that not only did Lia not have any work for me - which leads me to suspect that the damn broad missed me and only wanted me to show up at work so she can bask her eyes on my otherworldly beautiful self - but also that, after a couple of hours of nodding to sleep whilst on autopilot (that's really a term I use for when I have very little to do at work), finishing anything at that point in time was not only a chore, it was also impossible. At exactly 9:30 p.m., I packed my things, told Lia that I was skipping out due to severe narcoleptic seizures, and went home. My bed loved me anew that night.
II.
So technically, with Mrs. Arroyo's decision to dump the NBN-ZTE deal - a left hook that came from nowhere, which leads me to think that maybe Freddie Roach is a scam, and she really is behind Manny Pacquiao's training - the country lost two things:
I.
I got back to Cagayan de Oro yesterday, fresh from a heady night of wine-ing with Obi wherein I ended up in one couch, him in another, both of us with no recollection at all of how we got there. Let the speculations begin.
Anyway. The night before, my boss specifically told me that one of the projects I was handling was going to have what is called a field day the next day. I forget the details, but when you hear the terms field and day used in the same context as advertising and / or marketing, it could only mean a whole lotta work for me. So against my better judgment, and the proddings of an as-yet sober Obi, I agreed to show up at work the following day after my flight.
This was, as you could well imagine, a really, really bad decision. Upon arriving at the office fresh from my welcome-back-to-the-ends-of-the-earth meal at JRJ Fried Chicken, I discovered that not only did Lia not have any work for me - which leads me to suspect that the damn broad missed me and only wanted me to show up at work so she can bask her eyes on my otherworldly beautiful self - but also that, after a couple of hours of nodding to sleep whilst on autopilot (that's really a term I use for when I have very little to do at work), finishing anything at that point in time was not only a chore, it was also impossible. At exactly 9:30 p.m., I packed my things, told Lia that I was skipping out due to severe narcoleptic seizures, and went home. My bed loved me anew that night.
II.
So technically, with Mrs. Arroyo's decision to dump the NBN-ZTE deal - a left hook that came from nowhere, which leads me to think that maybe Freddie Roach is a scam, and she really is behind Manny Pacquiao's training - the country lost two things:
- a really big asset that could have helped the country jet into the 21st century as the BPO tiger of Asia (although I have no idea how that could be an honor)
- a lot of pre-holiday entertainment.
That latter part may be a bit too hasty, though; even now, in the wake of Gloria's decisive executive decision, the return of the First Gentleman, and Abalos' resignation are both still plagued by the vultures of the media, dredging this story for all its worth in front page news. So we might still have a ZTE - the Christmas Special in the future.
III.
Over at Pao's site, there's a rather interesting entry that should pretty much hit at least the Pinoy medical world with the velocity of said Manny Pacquiao's left hook. It combines the gravity of the recent Malou Fernandez brouhaha and a really curious show called Desperate Housewives.
Now, I'm not really a proponent of anti-racism, because I think everybody's a bit racist once in a while, me more often than most, but I really, really hate primetime television. If I were a doctor, I'd sign.
IV.
I am on the mend. In the process of. Apparently, extreme alcohol intake, while bad on the body, is quite good for the humor of a person.
Here is the first set of photographs taken from last Saturday's Mt. Narciso bash, courtesy of Obi and his Nikon D100. The next set of photos were deemed to be too pornographic, and were kept in a private network.
V.
That thing's still there. Somewhere. It's floating about in my mind, and I can't wait for the day when the amount of alcohol I imbibe will wipe out the very memory. When I go back to Manila, maybe.
EDIT: Number five is a killer. I swear. I need mental amputation, maybe. Otherwise, there is no hope for me. Putanginang yan. Shet.
III.
Over at Pao's site, there's a rather interesting entry that should pretty much hit at least the Pinoy medical world with the velocity of said Manny Pacquiao's left hook. It combines the gravity of the recent Malou Fernandez brouhaha and a really curious show called Desperate Housewives.
Now, I'm not really a proponent of anti-racism, because I think everybody's a bit racist once in a while, me more often than most, but I really, really hate primetime television. If I were a doctor, I'd sign.
IV.
I am on the mend. In the process of. Apparently, extreme alcohol intake, while bad on the body, is quite good for the humor of a person.
Here is the first set of photographs taken from last Saturday's Mt. Narciso bash, courtesy of Obi and his Nikon D100. The next set of photos were deemed to be too pornographic, and were kept in a private network.
V.
That thing's still there. Somewhere. It's floating about in my mind, and I can't wait for the day when the amount of alcohol I imbibe will wipe out the very memory. When I go back to Manila, maybe.
EDIT: Number five is a killer. I swear. I need mental amputation, maybe. Otherwise, there is no hope for me. Putanginang yan. Shet.