Countdown to New Year: One Day Left!

**Have you kissed your digits goodbye yet? Here's to you and your fireworks.

My Worst Christmas Memory

I've never had a bad Christmas until that one in 95.

My mother, she's a doll I tell you, and she was wrapping singulary empty gift boxes. She was more like preparing them for display than having them summarize the holidays with new stuff on Christmas morning.

She had enough money for boxes, gift wrap, and tape, but not enough for actual presents. I was never a brat, but there was still some reasonable materialism in my person. Practice made it all the more refined. And with all my previous Christmases, I had more than my proper share of practice. My holiday spirit was this growingly greedy presence, more like an evolving summary of my abundant Christmases past. And it was that same nasty spirit, however improperly reasonable because it uses "upbringing" as an excuse, which played a big role in imprinting that memory with severe graphic detail.

I tell you, you don't forget things like that. It killed my expectations, made quick work of paralyzing my Christmas Spirit, and left me decidedly less convinced of a merry Christmas that year.

Top Ten Reasons Why I'm This Close to Hating Filipino Taxi Drivers (Updated with Your Comments!)

**Of course, I am not referring to ALL of them, but there are certain drivers who give you THE impression that they all attended the same dipshit taxi driver college.

**Meanwhile, I first wrote this six years ago, December 10, 2010. I felt like reposting this now on account of I sort of miss the interaction I had with my readers then. Plus I am still licking scratch wounds somewhere, and that has been keeping me from publishing fresh content. 




1. They have to stop over for a gas refill. While the meter is running.
The only reason why a middle class queen bee like myself hails a cab is when I feel like I'm going to be late. My kinky night job guarantees less traffic, so I can allot some ten minutes to get to the office. Imagine my frustration as some taxi driver takes away five minutes of my allowance to refill his tank. We could have been using those five minutes to close the gap between my person and the office, but no. Hateful Taxi Driver Man has to take his time with what he can be doing while he's cruising, and he takes mine in the process.

Of course, I can always leave home earlier, but I have to allow at least thirty minutes to prepare, twenty minutes of which are spent in the washroom rolling the packaging tape.

2. They are closeted war freaks.
I remember this one time, just recently, when this driver got into a heated argument with a truck driver who refuses to give way. The taxi driver stops our cab in the middle of the road, catches the attention of this truck driver, attempts to pull him over, and he shouts the foulest of expletives at the same time. Its not love at first sight. Mr Taxi Driver Man is obviously provoking the fight out of Chickenshit Truck Driver Man. Chickenshit Truck Driver Man, being the surprising coward that he turns out to be, stays behind the driver seat and screams like a girl.

My Macho Posturing Dick Taxi Driver Man was grinning like a champion inbreed as he drives me home. This after alarming the shit out of my person.

3. They're sometimes grossly unhygienic.
Imagine being in an enclosed air conditioned space, and you're sitting next to this taxi driver who, after several minutes, reveals his alter ego without as much as a warning. Or a handkerchief. You find out that he doubles as this symphony conductor who specializes in wind instruments. Now, imagine those wind instruments as hoarse and throaty pipes with some sort of fluid discharge. And you find residual specks of said discharge on his steering wheel.

And then you begin to wonder: should you investigate your arms and the sleeves of your shirt for similar traces? You're thinking about it, because it will appear unethical. See, you want to shower him with kindness, as he was doing you with his spittle. So fuck you, Phlegmatic Taxi Driver Man, you and your unused Good Morning Towels suck.

4. They a. bore you b. make you uncomfortable c. freak you out with unnecessary small talk
And, as always, its the same old unending tirade on oil price hikes, bitch fits against the government, and oil price hikes. And bitch fits against the government. See, its the same silly tiring truck you probably heard from the last taxi driver who drove you home. And from the one before him. And you'll probably be adding your current driver, Boringly Dense Taxi Driver Man, in your list.

I actually wrote a piece about this certain sub specie. You might want to check out "My Three Wisemen Rode Metered Camels."

5. They drive with a death wish. And, being her gay impersonator, I just quoted Jessica Zafra.
It's a wonderful way to commute, them taxi cabs, what with the isolation from them cheap ass jeepney passengers, but it just might turn out to be my coffin with wheels as Eat Your Heart Out Knight Rider Taxi Driver Man here goes 300 on a 120mph road. Mach 5, baby. Sure, they take me home faster, but I still want to get home. Like, you know, alive and stuff.

6. They over-charge.
Its either that, or they don't offer Basic Subtraction in Taxi Driver College. Or they never make sure that they have coins or small bills. You know, with which to make change. So what I do is I make sure that they do; I sometimes pay with coins. Of course, this is simply in response to their scripted "Ay, wala kayong barya? Wala akong panukli diyan." (Ay, do you have smaller bills? I wouldn't be able to make change.) I'm just being a girl scout.
That's how you deal with the Greedy Dipshit Taxi Driver Man. You sometimes have to be an asshole in return.

7. They give you a hard time when its raining.
We all know that, by default, they overcharge when its raining hard. That's a fairly charitable understatement. And that's if and only if, underscore ONLY IF they agree to drive you to wherever the hell it is you're going.
Imagine yourself suffering this screening process for close to an hour, only to have your relief cut short by having Choosy Sonofabitch Taxi Driver Man small talk you to death on your way home. If the small talk doesn't get you, then the scary driving will. Or the fare.

They should know that karma in the year 2008 is digital. Its faster. Like broadband faster. Waaay faster than it was ten years ago. They should shudder this early on.

8. Sarah Geronimo should know that she used to sound like Celine Dion, but she was still a virgin back then. So she ought to stop trying hard to hit those notes because she's becoming so borderline desperate.
Oops, wrong list. But, while we're at it, I still think she should stop wearing those shiny clothes, too.

If you don't know who she is, then don't google her. What you don't know won't hurt your eyes or your ears. Or your sense of proper manners. Its not nice to throw insults, see?

9. You sometimes need to add twenty to fifty pesos more.
And then they'll take you in. It's either this, or number 10.

10. They forget to turn the meter on.
Of course, we know this is just a practiced scam which gives them the excuse to charge you their preferred fare. It's either this, or number 9, which ever comes first.
11.

You forgot to mention ODORS. I've endured many a taxi ride, inhaling at 3 minute intervals because of the rank stench of any of (but not limited to) the following : sweaty feet, shawarma armpits, or wet dog. Seriously. -- Sitting Pretty

Oh, good point, Sitting Pretty. And then sometimes, they sleep on their own cabs too, their bare feet resting lovely on that steering wheel after a whole day of driving. And I'll wager my long legs that those steering wheels stink of foot sweat.

12.

"What about taxi drivers who'd pretend not to know your destination or those who'd take the looooooooong route" -- Orally

And then Vajarl goes for the kill with this darling example

"Kanikanina lang, pasakay ako ng taxi, sabe saken "Magkano po binabayad nyo ron?" Sabe ko "Di po ba may metro?" Sabe nya, nako hindi kase ako naghahatid don, kaya magkano bibigay nyo?" Since marami akong dala, nagsabi na ko ng "70 pesos".Malapit lang naman. At 70 lang ang barya ko. Sabe ba naman "Eh 70 ren yun pag minetro ko eh." POTANGENA LANG." -- Vajarl

13.

"Been reading your blog for a while now, and I gotta say you elevate shit into fine art". -- A Fistful Of Moonbeams™

I was thinking of another Sarah Geronimo punchline, but I had to post this darling comment. I am now an artiste. Or something with enough quality crap to his bearing. And for all the right reasons, I figured I could well use a compliment.

14.

"One time I was on this taxi on my way to Eastwood.

The driver was flipping between radio stations. Somehow, the rock songs, OPM ballads, the "Tot-tot-tot" do not appeal to him, so he keeps switching.
And then he stopped at a radio station playing a song he liked.
"Beautiful" by Christina Aguilera'" -- Glentot

Maybe he was crusing, and that Christina Aguilera song was an invitation to his... motives. Scary.

This reminds me of this one time when this driver asked me what time I was supposed to be at the office. I know I left home early; I have about an hour left before logging in, and then the commute will take me another five minutes. Tops. So I told him that I was early for work. And then he asked me if I want to check in a motel with him. I said no. Because he was old and he was likely 12 out of those 14 hateful taxi driver types. And with that in mind, allow me one more quote

"I maybe easy, but I'm not cheap!" -- Aubrey Miles, from the movie Singles

Would You Delete a Dead Friend From Your Friendster List?

**Cannibalized¹ and amended, all for your reading pleasure. Or displeasure. I've been writing about vaginas and breastfeeding recently, and I was supposed to follow suit with a helpful tip on where to get your offline porn. But it will be Halloween in a few days, so I gathered this will be better received.


The last time I saw him was in Teriyaki Boy in the Mega Strip. We were four tables away, and I was just so involved with my lunch that I elected to stay put and just greet him later. I was too hungry to be sociable, then, and I'd far rather attend to my rice than to get up and exchange pleasantries. I remember them calling the waiter, so they probably haven't ordered yet. I was thinking that I'll probably approach them later, after I've had lunch. But this heavy lunch was followed immediately by a couple of cigarettes, and since the air was so perfect outside, we decided to freshen out and smoke for another thirty minutes.

I never got to approach him. But then, I reckoned I'd just "make kuwento" the next time I saw him. Or maybe I'd just send him a quick message in Friendster and try to catch up on things. Not entirely personal, and not very warm; I am a jerk at the very least, but at least it goes to show that I'm trying to keep in touch.

That message never happened. I was just so busy with my offline life that signing in to any of my online activities became the least of my concerns. Turns out that I'll have no chance to say hello at all. It was a few weeks since I last saw him that I learned of his death in a car accident. He didn't die from the accident itself, but he died from the internal injuries brought about by this terrible collision.

I didn't say hello when I had the chance. And, like the irresponsible friend that I am, I never went to his funeral at all. Maybe because I didn't know what to make of this situation which I never thought possible. But for the most part, I dreaded the thought of seeing any of my friends in a coffin.Fast forward to almost five years today, and he's still in my Friendster list. And, like the recovering social networking junkie that I am, I'm still logging in to it from time to time. But I guess there's still no point in sending him that message. I don't think they have Friendster from where he is right now.

¹This is a repost from July of 2007.

Schedule a Colostomy and Save a Friend!

**This goes out to them perpetually pissed off sort of people whose disposition, come hell or high water, are always in direct proportion to the kind of things they have stuck up their ass. I'm sure you know somebody like him.

There's this person I've known for close to five years now, and, thankfully, we're not friends. I see him almost every day, and what little pleasantries we've exchanged are limited to a word count of five. I never talk to him if I can help it on account of he's almost always frowning, and he could be, for all I know, biologically engineered to breathe fire. That smirk on his face works as good as a fingerprint -- it's the best identification he's got. I'm not stretching the truth when I tell you that I rarely see him smile. It's as if his face repels cheer and sunshine and all that creamy goodness, and it appears like he doesn't mind being a wet blanket towards everybody else's high spirits.

This dish rag, because he's got the personality of one, is pushing 40 now. Or at least he looks like it with the way he's always frowning. So there's just absolutely no point in teaching old sour dogs new cheerful tricks. Like smiling and stuff.

I'm not going to size him up, at least not any more, or decipher his corrosive psychological code because there's no real objective behind such a frustrating undertaking. Let's leave that to expensive shrinks who are getting paid for their intestinal fortitude. Or to them idle self-serving dipshits who think they're smart enough to unravel everybody else's behavioral patterns and then post their observations as Facebook shout outs. I mentioned Mr. Anthrope here (as opposed to Ms. Anthrope, which sounds like Misanthrope, which means "world hater" -- get it?) because you probably know somebody, maybe a far removed family member who lives in the same house, or an ex-friend who got kicked off the Emo-bandwagon because he was taking things a tad too seriously, anybody with a severely toxic disposition. And you don't know what to do with them. At least anything humane.

And so allow me to hazard several suggestions.

1. Imagine a self-restraining order in your head, like a uranium-green neon Post It that says "Keep the Fuck Away!" when you're within ten feet of said Toxic Person. And because it will be in your head, make sure it's very accessible for future recall. Maybe tuck that next to that mental file cabinet that's labelled "Favorite Masturbatory Fantasies," and leave that as it is. Do this if you got luck and you;re not in speaking terms with said Toxic Person. Or at least you used to be.

2. Stop talking to him. Delete him from your Facebook network. Remove his number from your cellphone, so that you reply with a "Who you?" the next time he sends you a message. Just cut him off completely, and pray well that he gets the hint.

3. Be as equally cheerful as he is toxic and become the more irritating of the two of you. Show all your teeth when you smile at him (which will be every ten to twenty minutes), always talk in rising pitches, high five until it's an involuntary reflex, and small talk like you breathe unnecessary banter. Become so thoroughly irritating to him that he cuts you off first, and then congratulate yourself.

4. Drug his coffee with 3,000 mg of the strongest over the counter laxative. Or whatever dosage that's potent enough to make him shit a five pound brick. Studies show that grumpy people more or less have something stuck up their ass, and I'm hoping that this exercise in conditioning bowel movement works like a charm. If it doesn't, and he's still no more cheerful after that nuclear shit, then tell yourself that at least you tried. And find wisdom in these two words - Shit happens.

5. Find yourself a good proctologist and schedule a colostomy. Maybe, just maybe, two ass holes will do him good.