I want to lose weight. Even just the weight I put on for the past year is fine, I’m not greedy. Especially because wedding is approaching and I wanna look my best-est self by then (since pictures and the image you project to people are what matter most in a wedding ceremony). I don’t wanna look like a round thing wrapped in a white sheet. Like a cotton ball.

So I told myself every day for the past month and a half to eat healthy and less. I failed miserably, of course.

My latest failure started this morning. I thought I was going to have a good diet day since I started it with a small, healthy breakfast by 6:30 a.m. Oh how wrong I was. By 9 a.m. temptation arrived full blast. Peanut butter, white bread, and a big bag of cheesy spicy tacos were all staring at me from the table of my coworker. They were luring me in. It was 3:1 ratio fight! Not fair at all! How do you expect me to resist???


How could I say no?😦

I guess I have to start again tomorrow. OR maybe somebody just has to accept he will never have skinny bride. It is a heinous crime to waste peanut butter after all.




I am sick of Facebook. But I cannot really deactivate despite wanting to for so long because that’s mainly how I get poop updates from my beloved. So I’ll keep it for now–but only for the messages! (And stalking capacities…)

Short story shorter, this blog is probably gonna get more brain droppings from moi.

Oh I love hiding from people. :3

Hello, HiNaD. I missed you.

No, I am not plotting someone’s murder. Well, not yet. 

Today though one of my kin has been murdered. By nobody else but her own husband. 

Once there was a woman who fell in love and married a man her family didn’t like. She came from a big family of nine children. Despite all the advices she received–solicited or not–she married the man.

Fast forward: the man became addicted to drugs and eventually became a deposed soldier because of “behavioral problems”. Fast forward even more: the woman finished her Masters degree and got promoted as principal in the high school she taught in. Final fast forward: the woman celebrated in the conference room of the high school with her co-teachers when suddenly her husband burst in the room and fired three gunshots at her.

At least, she died fast. Right?


What could she have been thinking during those seconds in between shots? Did she feel any pain at all? Did she recognize her murderer? Perhaps she was pleasantly surprised to see him? Perhaps not…

Her siblings, my great aunts and uncles, said the motive was her husband’s insecurity brought about by her career advancement along with paranoid jealousy. Perhaps they are right.

I didn’t know any of them well enough. These are people you know are related to you, and whom you share varying levels of comfortable- and/or uncomfortable-ness (mostly the latter), whom you would have helped out in some way you can if they’re in trouble. Whom you would think of asking for aid if you’re the one in a tight spot. 

I honestly don’t know how I feel right now. 

I am not close to her or her direct family. I wonder if they still remember my name. Still I feel the deepest sympathy to those who loved her and are left behind, and anger to the alleged murderer.

It is easy to judge, especially if you have met the person and instantly developed a dislike towards him. This was exactly what I felt towards the man: I felt then how he was no good. Yes, I might only say that now because the murder already happened. But I don’t need to defend my own opinions and preferences. To be honest, and no offense to the dead, I felt lucky I wasn’t in her position that time–tied to a man so unlikeable in a country where divorce is illegal. 

Of course it is easy to believe he is an insecure man. He has no job. His in-laws hate him. I don’t think even his children respect him. For him, plus all the little marital problems over time, might have been enough motivation for the murder. 

Not to mention the drugs…

Even if he’d be imprisoned for life, or even killed for that matter, it wouldn’t restore the loss of my great aunt.

For that, we mourn.

Because donuts is to Timmy what honey is to bees.

Two Bees in a Blog

At least, not in the way you’re thinking.

Before we were even officially in a relationship, I knew dating Timmy, a white American, would be quite a shock to the people around me. Philippines is not as diverse as the United States, and interracial relationships–something that Timmy wrote about here–are not something you see everyday. Plus, white people definitely stand out among Filipinos, who are mostly brown-skinned. And Timmy is as white as a healthy white person could be.

Timmy white Of course, his dazzling whiteness here has something to do with the lighting. But I like exaggerating things for impact :3

For most people here though, dating a white man means a ticket to financial prosperity. I could tell you more where I think this mentality came from–that all white men are rich–but I wanna do that on a more elaborate post. This thinking is all hilarious, stupid, and…

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I wish for you to do what makes you happy. Declare your love. Take risks. Eat that pizza. Start working out. Spend more time with people you love. Have that weekend marathon of your favorite series. Travel near. Travel far. Initiate contact. Give more than you think you can afford. Save up. Quit your soul-sucking job. Work better. Art harder. Stay at home and chill. Go out with friends. Whatever choices you make, let it be the one that will make you happy. It doesn’t need to be the same all the time. It just has to be the right one for the time.

Here’s to a kind 2016 to all of us. Happy New Year!


Bees Black and White

Following that second sentence led to this. :3

Here’s a very timely post from the cutest man alive. Merry Christmas!

Two Bees in a Blog

The old cliché “even a broken clock is right twice a day” isn’t true for the relationship I have with Jenny. For us, currently suffering from a 13 hour time difference, our broken clocks hit the mark four times a day.

I’m not sure I actually own an actual clock. In fact, with computers, cell phones, and microwaves available I really don’t see the need for one. Jenny disagrees as her love of watches, which is just one of those old-fashioned things about her I adore so much, has given her the risk of having a broken one around her wrist.

Over here in the United States, where I take up residency because I was born here and it’s incredibly terrifying to move anywhere else, we’re still hours away from Christmas. This doesn’t mean my celebration is on hold as a few hours ago I wished Jenny a Merry holiday…

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I should’ve marked the day on my calendar when I stood up against Mr. Vagina Drawer. I think it was a Friday though. A Friday that made me breathe more freely. A Friday that made me so giddy and proud of myself I would have done the Facebook dance if only Timothy Boyle was with me. But he’s not because he was born American, and I’m not really complaining but rather going off-topic.


Anyway, it started with this guy. I think he is really sick. Psychologically. There’s just something wrong with him. And not just the way he looks. He draws vaginas at work. He also laces every joke* with something lewd. When this nutritionist gave a talk at a seminar where he was an audience, the speaker asked who among the crowd eats bread most days for breakfast. One of the men raised his hand (among others)–he happens to be a friend of Vagina Drawer (or VD. Artist is a word I won’t use because that would be too generous). So when VD saw the guy raise his hand, he commented for everyone to hear: “Are you sure it’s bread, dude? Maybe it’s B-R-E-E-D. You know, the one spelled with a double E.”

Of course, nobody laughed.

The whole talk was interrupted with similar comments. The speaker was ignoring him and I could tell that she was annoyed. He’s lucky she was professional. If it was me I’d have called his attention.

Hey baldy, why does your head look like the tip of a penis?

Anyway, VD actually didn’t bother me too much at first. I’m just bothered because he is the kind of person I don’t want to have any contact or connections with. I might be being too judgmental, but he seems to me like the kind of man who always think about fucking every woman he meets. He’s too sexually preoccupied. Ugh, he even advertised on his Facebook account that he’s at present trying to write a book about “increasing your sex appeal” as the theme. He placed scantily-clad Facebook profile pictures of random girls too as the featured pics of every chapter. It doesn’t need to be mentioned how he’s very under-qualified to write that kind of book. The only sex appeal he has is the kind that makes you throw up.

So yes, it started when I was walking through the lobby and about to use the stairs. I was looking down at the documents I carry when somebody called out, “Hi, Nyce!” Yep, that’s me. My nickname is Nyce, pronounced as nice, because my parents were hopeful and thought the name would rub off on me. I disappointed them early in life.

When I heard someone call my name and said hi, of course, since I’m at work and it is part of your job to hide the fact that you’re antisocial and hate everyone, I said “Hello” back in a really nice, courteous way before even looking up and knowing where the greeting came from. And sure enough, as my very predictable and extended build up may have suggested, it was Penis Head Vagina Drawer Awfulest Person in My Part of the Planet.

I cringed inside. Wished I could take my hello back. Wished I wasn’t raised to hide my antisocialness too well. But only fools wish for a lot of things despite knowing that life laughs at 90% of their wishes. Mr. Penis Head saw an opportunity there. Thought this girl is so easy and give it a few days, weeks, I’d probably dance at his lap moaning about his overflowing sex appeal.

So he pestered me. Every time we meet at the hallways he’d call out, “Hi, Nyce!” in this really sleazy voice that he probably thinks is attractive/sexy. Ugh he’s so oblivious. How could someone stupid aspire to become a lawyer? Yep, he’s currently studying law now. Of course, he needs to study it. He has all the makings of a bonafide criminal.

Every time our paths met at work though, which was probably a minimum of five times a day, I’d COMPLETELY ignore him. Act as if he didn’t exist. And that just energized him, in retrospect. He started hanging out in the ground floor where our unit was so that whenever I come out of the room, he’s there to terrorize me with his repulsive existence. Sometimes he’d say really loud for everyone to hear, “Hi, Nyce! Please pay attention to me too.” Or when it’s time to log out from work, when everyone falls in line (he’s always one of the first ones in the queue) he’d say, “Hey move a bit, I reserved this one for Nyce. Nyce, come here (pointing in front of him, probably the worst position to be at on this planet) so you could log out fast,” and it’s just sooo embarrassing to have everyone hear it that I wanted to just either knock him dead or make him explode or have my name changed.

I thought it was the right thing to do, to ignore him, dozens of times. Most people would take that as hint that you’re just NOT interested. But then again, he’s not human. He is a gross abnormality. Like a huge pustule in your forehead.

Sometimes, you just have to stop playing nice.

I would have reported it to the HR department if I thought it would help. But the HR head herself saw and know about what he’s doing to me, but she actually just find it amusing. And flattering too.


I know. Something is wrong with this culture. Even my own unit head whom I told about it found it amusing at first, and when I didn’t stop complaining, advised me to just ignore it. Stupid submissive shit. Stupid me too for following it at first.

One Friday though, I just acted out my natural tendencies. Before he even opened his mouth that first time we met, in the lobby full of people, I confronted him in the meanest, loudest possible way I could muster and still use suitable for work vocabulary.

Oh that was such a release. If I were him, I would use the metaphor as good as an orgasm. I basically just told him if he thinks that I like what he’s doing, if he thinks I like him, then he must be a total idiot. Told him that he actually disgusts me and I feel very disrespected with what he’s doing. I told him to stop what he’s doing OR ELSE. I seriously fantasized doing legal action against him (I’m still not sure what sort I would file, but there’s gotta be one out there) if things still didn’t improve.

But it so amazingly did. Turns out, Mr. Penis Head is such a big pussy. All he needed was to be humiliated in a lobby-ful of people by a woman who’s fed up with all of his bullshit. Now, he never hangs out in the ground floor anymore. It’s so rare for us to cross paths more than three times a week. And each of those times, whenever he saw I’m approaching or when it’s a sudden meeting like in the stairs, he always looks down or at the other direction–anything but away from me. He acts as if I don’t even exist anymore, or if I do, as if I’m a complete stranger who hates being talked to.

I don’t know what it is for you, but for me, that’s a delicious win.

::Does the Facebook dance::

*They aren’t really. Jokes are supposed to be funny. 

If you have read my previous post, this is a good place to begin. If not, you might as well go on with this since reading through that won’t be good for your short attention span. Plus, there’s a lot of poop mentioning there. Not that there wouldn’t be any here…

My blogger buddy came here last month. Travelling halfway around the globe is not an easy task (he did it twice!). You have to endure more than 24 hours of waiting in airports, sitting in planes beside people who won’t eat their food yet still won’t politely offer it to you, and trying to hold your poop.

He survived all of that though, and he would endure it a thousand times over if that means he’d get to bee with me each time. That’s according to him, of course, so take it with a grain of salt. No–actually, take lots.

You see, he’s tricky with words. He said he had a medium package to give me (innuendo intended). Turns out it’s not medium at all. It’s actually pretty big tiny!

Yes, it’s even smaller than a matchbox. It fits perfectly around my ring finger though. And it’s very, very beautiful. But that’s not even the biggest surprise. He actually knelt on his bad knee before giving it to me, saying something like his surprise gift for me is himself, and that he loves me very much, and maybe he even mentioned donuts, I’m not sure. When he got on his knee (I heard it crack so it’s genuine), and asked if I will marry him, there’s only one correct answer:

“Fuck you. Of course I will!” *choke-esque cuddling ensued*

So yes, I’m going to spend the rest of my life with the craziest, sexiest, most wonderful, beautiful human being on the planet. Someone who never judges even if I wanna eat Pop-Tarts at 3 a.m (or if on some weeks I cry more than I poop). Someone who would carry all the heavy groceries for me even if he’s a high-end, rich white tourist looking for investments in a third-world country. Someone who laughs and dances and cuddles and do those other unmentionables with me lots even though I burped less than five inches away from his face more than twenty times. Someone who makes me glow as bright as a firefly’s butt because I’m filled with so much happiness. Someone without whom, I could never truly, completely appreciate anything anymore.

If you asked me three years ago if I’ll ever marry I would have smirked and shrugged.

Then, as crazy as real life is, your soulmate comes.

That one special person you could share fake, inauthentic smiles with. :3

That one special person you could share fake, inauthentic smiles with. :3

P.S. Thank you, WordPress, for introducing me to my future bank-robbing buddy. You’re invited when we tie the knot and roast a child, of course.

My visitor from the USA is taking a poop right now. *bloop bloop*—the sound of poop falling in water, even though you could also hear it from a passenger’s fart on a plane, which my visitor does a lot.

Ever since I ran after him because he walked so fast in the airport I almost missed him and almost choked on my gum because of being surprised (because he is sooo incredibly handsome…ly quick), I played the role of a tour guide. Note that this comes from a person who scored lowest on spatial awareness on an intelligence test. But then again, there are certain sacrifices that you are willing to make for a blogger buddy.

Especially if he brought you a $46,000 worth of gift…

I will have to organize my notes about my visitor first before I write a decent, comprehensive post about his trip here TO WARN OTHERS. If there is one thing you must know though, that is he finished six slices of thick-crusted pizza while I just finished two. As a bonus, he is a very deep person and he thrust towards danger like a boss–that includes exposing himself around rabid, sidewalk-pooping dogs.

And since he just finished pooping and cleaning his butt now, I must end this post. Because there are other things that needs to be done…like, showing you visual evidence that he adores me so much.

And that he already has a clean butt…

Stay tuned for exclusive pictures of his clean butt hole. Coming soon!

Stay tuned for exclusive pictures of his clean butt hole. Coming soon!

I’ll surely add more about this tragedy here beecause I can’t do it on Facebook since I have a reputation to maintain. For some quickie satisfaction though, you can read another perspective about the week from the person I spent it with.

Hi, Bayeeeeeeeet!


Actually, that’s loved. Yep as in past tense.

No I did not leave the job with arms raised to the heavens thankful that I got out from that hell on earth…not that THAT doesn’t happen (but let’s talk about that in my next post. *hint hint*)


Call centers probably exist since people found out how to make verbal complaints without being seen, and thus you’ve probably been a calling customer once or one hundred times. Unless you’re this lucky human being who has never been dissatisfied with a service you’ve bought or subscribed for, I’d bet you’ve dialed a customer service number before. Whether you’ve been one of those sarcastic assholes or raging bulls or unbelievably racist or those oh so delightful peachy sweet callers I’ve had–THANK YOU. Thank you for helping me discover how far my tolerance could go before losing faith in humanity.

But yes, the list!


In a third world country where Business Process Outsourcing is the fastest growing industry since the late 2000’s, young professionals are flocking to it like flies to excreta. Why? Nurses, engineers, teachers, professional relationship advisers and all other sorts of pros who can’t get jobs that pay decently in their respective fields, or can’t get jobs in firms that do because of the Whom You Know not What You Know environment, get lured by the promise of competent salaries from call center companies (and boy, they really are). Don’t judge please. We need to eat too. As well as our families. We have kids and siblings to send to school. Plus we’re all itching to get that latest iPhone.

Payday Face :3

Payday Face :3

Bladder Control

Trust me, if you’re the kind who needs to go to the bathroom three times in an hour (which I was before embarking on my quest to become the greatest customer service rep ever), you might be able to curb that in a job where you need to ask permission from your manager every time you need to pee. Unless you’d rather suffer the consequences or fond of filling out those disciplinary forms, which aren’t too bad actually.


Defensive Tactics

…or evasive tactics, whichever you prefer.

Let’s face it, some people are just freaking difficult. And in the company where I worked, there’s zero tolerance for rudeness to customers. No, it doesn’t matter that their sole purpose of existence is to terrorize other people and make them feel like the most worthless shit on the planet. If you ever talk back with an attitude (i.e. give those jerks what they deserve) and you get caught then bye bye job. Which might not be too bad…

But I digress. Yes, being in the position where you can’t react offensively forces you to develop your specialized defense mechanisms. You learn how to build the ultra mega ability of fine-tuning your sense of hearing, also known as KEYWORD EXTRACTION. Yep, you don’t have to listen word for word to all that buildup why they weren’t able to pay their fees on time (because apparently the day they received the notification their imaginary best friend died and they have to attend the funeral. Oh I’m very sorry about Mr. Kangaroo. Let me see how I can waive this fee for you…

Or if you get that caller whose sole intention is to make you their practice target for the lessons they learned from Cussing 101***, then it’s time to put up a stronger wall of defense, the MUTE button. All you need to do is press that, lower down the volume, and laugh at that customer’s attempt of throwing a tantrum because his mother did not give him a tit back when he was a hungry infant.

Or, if you’re speaking to someone who suffered a damage in that area of their brain responsible for logical reasoning, then you further step up and use your last resort, the ACCIDENTAL CALL RELEASE.

Can't be more honest than this.

Can’t be more honest than this.

(***DISCLAIMER: Sometimes, although you know the problem is not you but the company policies/the economy/your imbecilic caller/all of the above and more, the verbal abuse still gets to you because you’re a human being with a lot of insecurities and your invisible emotional walls crack. You may cry, or self-pity, or stress-eat, or have sex, or run, or think of resigning, or actually resign, or post a blog post, or whatever it is you need to do to feel that you’re a valuable human being who deserves respect, then do so. Do one, do two, do fucking EVERYTHING if you need to. Please. Actually, I insist. You’re not a goddamn retard who needs comprehension lessons, are you? [I actually got an old man insisting before I finished my second sentence that I get SPEECH fucking LESSONS, but that’s for another post…])


How NOT to be Barbaric

A.k.a How to talk like a civilized human being.

I worked at an in-house, inbound call center. And most of the time, people call in because they have a problem. Remember the last time you have a really annoying problem? Were you in your best behavior then? Yes?

Shut up and have a reality check, you self-righteous human.

Some people make their frustration known and still be civilized about it, and boy, you deserve a double round of applause and a tray of warm chocolate chip cookies. If you belong to the other group and resort to foul language and heavy doses of sarcasm, racism, sexism, allotherisms, then–surprise!–you are one of the majority.

We deal with these callers every day (or night in my time actually) and we are required to be nice to each of them. Polite if you can’t achieve nice. Civilized if you can’t achieve polite. But that’s the minimum threshold.

If you were ever that woman who called in and screamed IDIOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTT long and loud enough to make my ears bleed, then perhaps you remembered how I didn’t shout FAT WRINKLY BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHH back even though you sound every bit like it. No, I was dripping with civility and transferred you to the right department (even though I should have released the call) because newsflash, you actually dialed the WRONG number, you retard.


Yes, another meme. Stop complaining!!!

You Become an Adult

…or at least start to become one.

Which means you learn how to take ownership and be responsible for everything you do, and not do, during working hours.

Here’s a secret: call center companies are VERY strict when it comes to time. If you’re used to a job where you come to work late and leave work early and don’t really suffer consequences because of it, then imagine working at the opposite side of that pole. Every freaking second is monitored from the time you logged in. And as what I have mentioned above, even pee time. Log in late and you better make sure you abort all hope that it will go unnoticed to save yourself major disappointment.

Here’s another secret: from kindergarten to college I was notorious for being late. I am not proud of that. Well, actually a little bit because even if I was a chronic late comer I actually avoided major disciplinary actions. Working in a call center changed that. I was never ever late except once, that is when I was forty-five minutes late because I forgot to readjust my alarm. Now looking back…I think that is my greatest achievement in terms of professional development. Yes, I am a professional goddamit!!!

If you do not know this yet, it might be helpful to learn that every call is monitored and recorded in the business. Why do you think those reps were still so polite even after the verbal abuse courtesies you’ve slung? That’s right, because they’re afraid to lose their jobs if they say what’s really on their mind. Yes, that might not mean they’re ACTUALLY the nicest human beings on the planet. Yes, that might mean they’re only driven by fear and job pressure that’s why they’re still so nice.

But, let’s face it, niceness isn’t always genuine. Sometimes it’s a conscious choice we people make because it’s mandated by the job or any other external factor that we allow to affect us. Sometimes we just choose it because it’s the decent thing to do.


Although really, sometimes I just wish I could tell you how a big fucking idiot you really are… *grins*



To commemorate my first month in this new city with this new job and a new boyfriend sleeping pattern, I would like to brag about successfully fooling people into paying me for making a list and for making up stories.

Oh yes, WordPress. I am a bona fide professional writer.

*laughs maniacally*


Today, I am officially a published science fiction writer. Like, this is soooooo weird. *laughs again* I never really thought I could pull this off. I am no science woman. Sure, I like reading about science when I actually have the time during late nights but I am no Asimov or Clarke or Bradbury. I am just a Duptsi. I like reading about science fiction though. Not to sound elitist, but I think the really good ones in the genre are high-end brain food. Stuff that make you question the future–heck, the universe. I read science fiction stories and can’t help but feel this sense of wonder and dread and excitement for the possibilities that await us.

Blah, blah–in short, I dig SF. I am not a science fiction writer though. I am too dumb for that.

But yes, I tried creating my own stuff. And like almost everything in my life, it started pretty awful (Ugh, all those rejections. *smirks* But that’s for another day…).

What matters now is that today, somebody thought it wasn’t so bad after all.

You could read the story here: 


Now about that list: did you know that you could actually make money writing lists? Listverse is the most popular out there right now, I think. They pay you $100 for every list they accept. I have tried submitting to them something I wrote about science but the editor or first reader–whoever read it–rejected it saying it’s not interesting enough. Oh well. To each his own.

But should you really stop after one failed submission? Nope. DO NOT EVER FUCKING STOP as long as you still have somewhere you could place it your stuff on. Stubbornness pays off some days if you do it right.

So yes, that list is now up on this site right here:


I am sooooooooooo professional.

*laughs maniacally. again*

Really, I’m just so happy to finally have my very first story published. That is soooooo awesome. Like, you know, I really might have a shot in this writing thing after all.

Not that I have any intention of stopping though. Stubbornness pays if you do it right, remember?

(And well, the boyfriend would break up with me if I stop writing. I still need him right now so that’s not really an option. He buys me books and lets me eat pizza, and pizza matters, so…)


So I’m in a new city with a new job that I have no experience of  doing at all before.

I am actually excited.

This is my first time totally going out of my comfort zone. My family’s a plane or boat ride away, and I have nobody here with me except for my increasing appetite. And a roommate who’s in the same situation. And my bee, of course.

I don’t know what to expect tomorrow when I start work and it’s scary and exciting both at the same time. But they paid for my flight. And my hotel accommodation. And no one farted in the plane. All in all, I think everything is going rather well.

I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

See, things don’t go well for me most of the time, so this makes me suspicious. What has life in store for me to punch me in the gut any day now? That I would actually suck at job? That I have only one year left to live? That my boyfriend is actually gay?

Perhaps I should stop being such a neurotic.

It’s just so new, you know? It’s a welcome change though. I really shouldn’t worry myself because tomorrow my luck would probably start going its normal route again. For now though, I’m gonna enjoy the good stuff. That, and DF.

Bring it on.