Status: We don’t fight fair
Music: The Takeover, The Break’s Over - Fall Out Boy

I can’t help noticing that since it takes me too long to update this blog, my entries get lengthier and lengthier. Uhm, I hate lengthy posts. I know they can get boring sometimes, so don’t worry, I promise that this one is not gonna be lengthy.

I was supposed to update this last night, but I got home at 3:30am, too tired to actually do anything but visit dreamland. Uh.

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BLUSH, BABY, BLUSH!

One weird thing about me is that I easily blush. And whenever I do, it’s so obvious. I really turn red. I blush every time I feel embarrassed, ashamed or nervous. If I’m keeping a secret, say for example, the identity of this Mr. Perfect, you can easily know without me saying anything just by guessing who he really is. If you mention his name, I will surely blush right at that moment. And then, you’ll know.

Last week, I was gorging on some meal with a friend when my Mr. Perfect greeted me. My friend said I turned red instantly. Good thing my Mr. Perfect didn’t notice. (Or so I think.)

The other night, my friends were just talking about something, teasing me when I turned red. I couldn’t do anything but cover my face with my jacket or I’d have looked terribly stupid.

When I was in college, my friend Icang used to tell me how I would look silly when the person I admired so much back then was around. I would turn incredibly red.

And it’s not just blushing. When I blush, it’s like it comes with the whole package. I stutter, I get clumsy, and I act weird. Things I have no control over.

Heck, I need to do something about it. I know some of my readers are registered nurses so my educated guess is that you know the human body better than I do. Is there any way I can prevent blushing and other physiological manifestations of emotional geysers? Please, I need it right now. I don’t want to get myself in deep shameful shit.

How about you? Do you blush often? Or am I just really, er, abnormal?

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THE DAYS BETWEEN TODAY AND BECOMING-A-DIPLOMAT DAY

My friends have been asking me how I find my new job as a writer. They ask me if it’s fulfilling. And of course, I have a default answer. “I don’t need a fulfilling job right now. The only job that will give me fulfillment is being a diplomat. And until I become one, I don’t need to feel fulfilled. I just need to feel happy.”

And now, the question is, “Am I happy?” Hmmm. I’m relatively happy. The job is not as easy as I thought. Actually, it is. But it’s pretty stressful, too. My work runs from 7am to 4pm, and after office hours, you’ll find me in an arcade or bowling alley in Megamall just to get rid of the stress I have accumulated the whole day. Very, very high school.

I only have a few people that I get along with in the office — Bridget and Aika (whom I always go out with), Dana, Kristel, Paul and Jon (whom I always spend my cigarette breaks with). It’s funny because Christian, who sat next to me, had already quit the job for a Marketing position for some company — the jobs I turned my back on for this job.

Last Thursday, I got a call from another company offering me a position in Advertising and Promotions. You know how I used to hate the culture in the advertising field. Aika and Bridget told me to grab the chance. I did not. I was afraid their offer would be better than my current company, and would tempt me to quit this early for a better job. That’s just silly. I have just started and I’d be quitting that fast?

Anyway, I think I’m enjoying. I just wish that the Department of Foreign Affairs would release the second exam’s schedule soon.

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MISTAKEN FOR SOMEONE ELSE, HUH?

Last night, I was to meet my officemates Bridget, Aika, Dana, and Jon for a little drink. On my way to our meeting place from Shangrila Mall, I walked past EDSA Shangrila Hotel. One block away from me was this man in his early 30s, in his long-sleeved polo and blue tie. It was 7:30pm. As I continued walking, I began noticing that he was looking at me. And as the distance between us got shorter and shorter, he wouldn’t look away. He just maintained that eye contact that made me feel very uncomfortable. Two metres between us, he smiled.

I had a good look at him. Yep, thirty-something. Neat. Tall. Nice eyes. A little chubby. Very masculine but his aura sent signals of certain pinkness. Not overly handsome but cute. I continued walking.

In the middle of the pavement, I looked back. There he was standing still in front of the hotel, looking at me. And then he raised his hand and waved. I stopped walking. He ran towards me.

One metre between us, he stopped. He said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I think I’ve mistaken you for someone I know.” He flashed that gorgeous smile again.

I laughed a little, “A’right.”

And then, he stepped a little closer and said…. Oops, uhm, I’m sorry. Gawd, I’m doing it again. This post is long enough. I can’t write any longer. I promised you I would not post lengthy entries anymore. So, a’right, I better stop here. So there. Bye for now. Hehehe.

images courtsy of ryan-design.com, margomilne.com, and blogoscoped.com

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