Getting a massage from the masseuse from hell

The Dandyman's sister called for some home service massage tonight and we got on board 'cause we haven't called our regular Taytay masseuse Ate Shena for some weeks now. Unfortunately I think I got the worst masseuse EVER. Like went-to-massage-school-and-flunked-then-to-happy-ending-massage-school-and-flunked bad. Fucker was just applying pressure on random parts of my body with her thumbs like she was fucking kidding me or something. At 11 pm on the dot she started out good enough, politely enough, asking me if I wanted the pressure to be hard. "Normal lang, ate. Thanks," I responded. She did my back first, and it was OK, but she was only ever stroking my back. Hard. Warning bells went off inside my head, but I persevered and resolved to enjoy my first massage of the year. But fuck it. She started massaging my arms - hard - and when it came to massage my hands, she didn't even try to crack the knuckles like masseuse (masseuses?) usually do. When she was massaging my feet, she was using ONLY ONE HAND, for chrissakes. God knows what she was doing with the other. Man I thought the hour would never end. At frequent points during the whole torture she would stop. Just stop massaging me altogether, with her hands still on me. I think she was engrossed in Dandy's big ass TV. WTF?!? How can you relax and enjoy the massage if the masseuse is, I don't know, watching Star Movies and NOT massaging you? Often I would open my eyes to let her know I wasn't asleep so she would stop screwing me over, but man oh man, she went on with her crappy massage like it was the most normal thing on in the world. It was like she wasn't even fucking trying, like she had a grudge against me or something. I wanted to go lady, what the hell did I ever do to you? She was stretching my joints and sometimes she didn't stretch enough, but when she did I honestly felt violated. I can still feel her on me right now, stretching me. Seriously. And she asked me to turn over at one point, and she wasn't even like other masseuse where they close your bra clasp first while you're face down and then ask you to turn over. She was just like, ma'am, turn over. What, you want to see my boobs or something? I covered myself before turning over. I SWEAR she was copping a feel at one point. I wanted to say, excuse me, I already have a personal masseur who does that, thank you very much. (*wink wink*) Towards the end of the massage, she was doing my scalp, and I SWEAR she exhaled so loudly in exasperation and dug her finger tips extra hard into my head because 12:00 wouldn't come soon enough. MY EYES ARE OPEN LADY, WTF.

Now I can't go to sleep because of that crappy massage. Random parts of my body ache and I'm afraid she might've burst an artery because of all her squeezing and poking. Seriously.

The problem with home service massages: because you get a random masseuse every time, you never know if your massage is gonna have a happy or a crappy ending. :|

I wrote 929 words in 31 minutes with Write or Die! http://writeordie.com

I'm back. :) Pardon the language/ grammar structure/ inane topics below. I haven't written regularly in more than two years. But anyway, yay! I wrote 929 words in 31 minutes using WriteOrDie. That's gotta count for something... right? I'll try to post regularly from now on. For the meantime, enjoy my 30 minute speed writing result in all its unedited glory. Comments are appreciated, don't be shy!

Stupid copy-paste html from Write or Die won't display the words and minutes. :|

I've been trying hard to start writing again the past few months, but so far I've been stuck. I haven't written in so fucking long - been busy with life. So now I'm trying again and I've resorted to using writeordie.com, in hopes of getting bullied by an invisible internet entity into writing. Not actually sure what will happen if I fail to write 1000 words in 30 minutes - I think Linda Blair from The Exorcist is gonna come out of my screen or something. Anyway so far, so good.


Now. What do I write about? A couple of years ago when I was in Japan, I wrote semi-regularly just to gripe about my job - I was confident my Japanese bosses wouldn't be able to read my posts anyway, so it was rant all you want. I loved doing that because aside from the fact that I could use all the curse words in my vocabulary, I was even able to invent new ones. And also it was a great way to create sort of a snapshot of that time of my life, which will forever be sailing the internets, and I could always read it and get transported back to my mid-20's self in Osaka or Tokyo, and it was both a terrible and exciting time and person to be. Most of my posts were fucking depressing (sometimes I wrote while literally crying), but the standout posts I believe (and some of my fans attest to this) are those about the group dynamic of the people around me and how we sound off one another. Those QQ (Quotable Quotes) posts still make me laugh even now, more then five years later. Hold the fuckity fuck. I just read that. It's been five years?!?

So. I'm 30 now and still nowhere near being a writer. I've been masquerading as a programmer the past seven years - depressing, I know. According to that aptitude test we took in high school I could've gotten away with any course I took in college (I was in the 99+ percentile), and I fucking chose Electronics and Communications Engineering. Why? It sounded cool when I said it. I imagined somebody asking me what my course was, and it was going to fucking roll off my tongue, all four words of it, and it would make me better than everyone else within a fifteen-foot radius.

Ultimately I got out of college and took the first job offer I got, a programming job in a Japanese company. I learned how the Japanese work, and unfortunately it's been part of me ever since - I can out-OT any one of you. Did you know there is a scary number of Japanese who die every year because of overwork? They even have a word for it. One character is "work" and the other is "death". That's fucking scary.

Ok, 483 words later, and I realize that I'm rambling like Holden from The Catcher in the Rye. I bought that book some time after I started working - I StumbledUpon this list, right, of the 100 books you should read before you die or something, and TCITR was in it. Also when I was younger I read a long-ish magazine article about this young girl who became the (old) writer's lover, and I was intrigued how a young girl would be attracted to such an old guy. Maybe he had stuff to say, you know. And, you know, the notoriety surrounding the book, Mark David Chapman or someone, that guy who shot John Lennon - he had the book on him that night, right? Suffice to say I bought the book for I think a little over a hundred bucks, and read it, and I can't tell you what it was about - not because I don't want to but because I don't really remember what it was about - but I CAN tell you this: it was a fucking trip. And it was full of cussing. Guy cussing so I can't really relate to the style, but I was familiar with the sentiment.

Six minutes left... oh God Sadako's gonna come out of my laptop, isn't she? Anyway, going back to the 100 books list. I fucking bought Atlas Shrugged because of that list. It was gonna be good, you know, it's heavy, the title's pretty well known, so if somebody were to ask me, "Have you read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Raynd?" I was going to be fucking ready, you know? Truth is I only read the first thirty pages or so. Fucking boooooring. And what the fuck did Atlas shrugging have to do with anything? The book was about this train company or something. I dunno, I gave it up. Thankfully my friend's mom saw me lugging it around with me when I went to their house and asked if she could borrow it. That was, I dunno, seven years ago? This is the first time I've thought about it again.

Two minutes to go and one hundred sixty words to go... I'm not going to make it! Anyway this has been really fun, I'm remembering how I used to structure my sentences (run-in? on? sentences are the only way to go!) and where to put my fucks. Hmm I'm thinking Tina Fey could be a really good influence. And maybe Nora Ephron. I have to remember to find if Powerbooks has any of her works. Oh, and I gotta buy at least ONE Gordon Ramsay book. That guy's a fucking genius. Well, I'll do this again tomorrow. Good night.

well well well.

haven't blogged in a while. makes me wonder if i can still write at all.
hmm.

in other news, according to the Chinese calendar, this year was supposed to be MY year.
my ass.

why am i writing such short lines? social networking sites to blame.

God i need to start writing again.

So maybe I should've posted this here instead.

Posted something tonight on my FB wall:

there should be a freaking notification when somebody freaking unfriends you on FB. not that i really care though, it's just that they have notifications for every freaking thing else, why not for that too? :| (wala gusto ko lang malaman kung sino ang mga pathetic ex-friends ko, thinking they can erase me from their pathetic little lives by unfriending me. ON FB. kung ayaw mo sa 'kin mas ayaw ko sa 'yo, ulul.)

And it came fucking straight from the heart, too. I even included one of my all-time favorite mottoes, plastered on my old Friendster page - kung ayaw mo sa 'kin, mas ayaw ko sa 'yo, ulul. But apparently being pissed off about being unfriended is too mababaw, and I had no proof whatsoever that I was unfriended anyway, so I was told not to be such a feelingera.

So yeah. Maybe I should've posted it here instead. Where only five people will get to read it, and then I wouldn't have spread so much hate in the world (it being the Christmas season and all.) But fuck it.

I'm angry, and frustrated, and I want to hurt some people so badly for making me feel like this. But I won't because in all honesty I don't have a choice, and I deserve it, and at the same time I don't. So I posted something stupid and mababaw on Facebook instead. And feelingera is all I get.

Honestly there are not enough cuss words in the world I can say to make up for everything I want to say. :|

It's indecent to be this happy.

One month bukas. Putsa may ganun.