-=(Sagien)=-

Why Do I Interrupt?

I have come here to tell you of a journey. A journey to a place of flashing lights. To a location defined by the deafening roar from a mob of excited gamblers. That's right, I went to Las Vegas the Taneytown, MD Municipal Volunteer fire department to play bingo.

Afinity and I sit at Main ST. waiting for the light to change, discussing pre-bingo strats - how many simultaneous cards can we handle effectively? Is it considered Gamesmanship or rude to try to distract people while the numbers are called? Do our young eyes give us an edge? - A group of 10 or so teenaged kids stroll by doing normal kid things; two in the back playfully lob snowballs at their friends. One very generous child in the front seems to have offered to carry The Massive Wooden Cross.

The procession and light hold us up and we are late. Is this Jesus' not-so-subtle way of punishing us for our dirty gambling habit? We try to slip in through the back door hoping we won't raise the ire of the masses. The mix of people is surprisingly diverse age-wise, I'm reminded of Rounders and I wonder if the stakes are different here than at an Old Folks home. Bingo grinds to a halt from our appearance; our opponents eye us up as we purchase the necessary bingo tools.

Bingo is more fun in this group setting than you would expect. We learn the normal ways to win: horizontal, vertical, diagonal, big and small square, big and small diamond. Sometimes an added value game is thrown in where you fill the whole card or try to create a letter from the alphabet. The best part is this: you get the hear peoples hopes mercilessly dashed against the rocks with the group sigh (even the occasional damn, hell, and shit) and accompanying tearing, as they crumple and throw away the now useless bingo sheets that had just seconds earlier been whatever dreams normal small-town folk have accompanying a Cash Prize of Up To Fifty Dollars.

Bingo is not as fun as you would expect. By hour 4 of bingo, the rural niceties wear off. The intelligence of 60 year old women who mistakenly call bingo is audibly questioned. This far into the night it's hard to tell whether the numbers are being called at a breakneck pace, or if we just don't have the chops for marathon bingo sessions.

We leave that first night defeated. Not truly knowing if it was a lack of experience, skill, or if Taneytown MD survives by taking $30 from rubes who are entranced by the sirens song that is bingo.

Cruel and Unusual

The Philippines is a place where laws and policy are made, but not enforced. At least, not when I was growing up.

Schools do not have to bend to laws that govern how they treat their students as far as punishment goes.

Inside is the account of what I would consider the worst punishment of my life. Worse than John Walley.

P.S. Before you start reading, check out the newest addition to the ISSF stable of blogging superstars. Dirt. Perhaps you've seen his witty comments on this blog before?

In the United States of America, the public school system provides the necessary books for their students for learning. They also provide lockers to keep these books in so you have no excuse to 'forget a book at home'.

Such is not the case in my homeland. One had to purchase one's own books in a private school system in the Philippines. If you went to public school, you'd be lucky if you only had to share a book with two other students.

In addition to having to shell your own cash for your own learning media, you also had to keep all of your books with you at all times. Jansport bookbags were out of the question when you're having to carry 8 or 9 heavily bound tomes with you at all times. This was what I carried all my school supplies, notebooks, books, lunch and everything in when I went to school:

And I was fortunate to have something like that to carry my books around. Most other kids pulled along an equivalent of a cardboard box on casters, adorned in the school's colors.

Anyway, while that in itself might seem like cruel and unusual punishment, that is not what brings this story about.

It is highly frowned upon to disobey the rules and regulations of the school. And when they frown upon a student, they don't send him to detention or suspend him. They make him perform heavy military-type physical excersize.

Before I get into the description of such punishment, let me emphasize the school's dress code.

Students had to wear the school appointed dress shirt(tucked in), khakis, white socks, school ID, and black dress shoes. Sneakers(especially ones with fancy designs like, oh say.. stripes) are not allowed at all. Sneakers will incur heavy military-type physical excersizes.

It was a bad day in sixth grade. I didn't do my homework, I forgot my ID at home, I ran out of writing utensils(lost them all), and I didn't have my Math book. I'm in for some shit.

I sat in one of the many vice principals' office, waiting for my turn to get my reprimand and sentencing. I sat there on the rattan chair in absolute fear as I hear whooshing sounds followed by a resounding whack. Seven of them, I counted. Seven isn't so bad.

I changed my mind when a child about three years younger than I am left the office in tears. Oh boy, I wonder what he did..

He was wearing Air Jordans, white, with the Michael Jordan logo emblazoned on its side, and several stripes. I gulped.

My name gets called and I stood up, shaking. I feebly made my way into the office.

She asked me what I had done to be there.

I told her.

She looks over me through her thick glasses and shook her head as if what she was about to do was unfavorable to her.

She asked me what my math teacher had done to punish me.

I told her that I was made to do 50 pushups and to hold a squat for 15 minutes.

She asked if this was my first offense.

I can't lie. I told her that it wasn't.

She looks out her window to the view that overlooked the quad. The quad consisted of two full sized basketball courts, separated in the middle by a tree in the middle of half a basketball court size pavement.

She tells me to start running around the quad and to not stop until she told me to stop.

It was always summer in the Philippines. It was especially summer at around the time I started running, and it doesn't get better until the sun goes down. The sun won't be going down until well after the school day is over.

It was also a good thing that I obeyed school regulations and was wearing my black leather dress shoes.

I started to run. At first I kept track of the laps. I stopped counting around 20. I kept running with no water, and the heat pounding on my frail 11 year old body. I ran with my dress shirt on, keeping it tucked in, afraid she might add more time to whatever time she had in mind.

After about an hour and a half of running around the two and a half basketball courts, a student comes walking out of the vice principal's office. He stopped my running vision quest.

He informed me that I was to do 50 laps and asked how many I had done.

I told him I lost track.

He goes back to the office to inquire as to what to do next. Meanwhile, I sat down and broke down in tears from sheer exhaustion. Moments later, he comes back out.

He told me that I am to run 50 laps starting now. Then my punishment was over.

I missed 3 class periods while I ran the 50 laps. I ran the first 5 crying like a girl, then ran out of tears, which is just as well considering I was probably on the verge of dehydration.

I have forgotten most of the thoughts that kept me occupied during that run. The only thing that I can remember is the pounding of my regulation leather dress shoes on the hot concrete pavement, wearing down their soles.

Fuck you, Miss Ruiz. I can afford to buy Coca Cola now, how about you?

Housewarming, Karaoke = The Win.

Do you think I got enough?

Edit: kitsu points out that this is NSFW.

The housewarming party was a success. Apparently, the caucasians like karaoke too. Special thanks to everyone who showed up. And if you're one of those bitches who cancelled/said you'd show but didn't, well, I now know who my REAL friends are..

This is one of those posts where words simply cannot describe the magnitude of the event.

Just a few pointers:

Swords and alcohol are probably not a good idea to have in the same location. Swords, alcohol and VD are a definate no-no.

Know when to tell someone they are DONE. Emphasize the word DONE when declaring them DONE as well. Dino demonstrates the authoritativeness of the doctrine of declaring someone DONE here. Example:

"VD you BITCHASS, you SUCK at karaoke, you are DONE." Point at him too.

Be as cool as this host. The Golden Brown Sun God shines in this event, smiling, laughing, forgetting the chips and dip and making sure the vegan doesn't get to eat. You have to learn them about the meat. Let me demonstrate how:

Sit him on your lap and stick it in his ass. It is not gay. It is learning them about the meat.

Last but not the least, make sure you invite wombat to any event you have planned.

You're bound to get an ass shot.

P.S. There are many more pics. Due to certain considerations concerning our fascist webhost, you can find the remainer of the photos here.

There are videos too, but you'll have to ask.

Mmm Frech Fries

Behold the emptiness of my abode. I just wanted to show off my Batman Begins poster. No, I haven't seen the movie yet.

Once you go Asian...

Asians invent the greatest things on Earth. As the juvenile population of America discovers the wonders of deep fryers that use an overabundance of oil to deep fry anything from potatoes to shoelaces, the Asians have been enjoying the greatest deep fryer known to man: a wok. Observe the life cycle of these french fries as they reach their golden brown perfection.

From the cutting board, and I didn't cut myself this time..

To the greatest deep fryer known to man..

On to the serving baking pan, where they resemble their final golden brown form, much like the Sun God that created them.

You Never Go Caucasian.

As I plow through my paper route this morning, thinking about what to serve at my housewarming party this coming Saturday, I come across this thing. I almost ran over the bastard.

The gentleman holding him proceeded to tell me the story about how he met the turtle, that he doesn't have a name for. Thirty years he said. Animals know they're liked, he said. All I remember was that I was getting eaten alive by gnats. Because they know I like them.

Spoiler: I'm Not Being Entertaining.

This is an impromptu update that I felt necessary to post about.

It's late at night and I should be sleeping because I have a paper route. But I have to appease my brain.

I Have Sand In My Vagina

During ISSF chat, mincus pointed out to me that Blogebrity is looking for candidates to provide them with content on their c-list blogs and that I should seek this position because I read a lot of blogs as it is.

Let's get a few things straight. Yes, I read a lot of blogs. The ones that are worth reading are already linked here, over there to the right. If I could direct your attention to the one underlying trend in all those blogs: they are all personal blogs.

The blogs I read are blogs about those people's lives. They don't get into the political crap, or go on and on about their opinions on mainstream shit that I can read about in several hundred sites on any given day. They tell stories about their lives and what happens to them, and, most of the time, not in the woe is me fashion that certain bloggers have gotten to adapt lately.

With that said, Blogebrity's C-list is complete garbage. I got sick of people's rhetoric and I havent even gotten halfway through the list.

So do the world a favor, when you blog, don't whine about what a crappy day you've had, or why Michael Jackson should've been guilty. There's a time and place for such things. The public forum that is your blog is hardly the place to bitch about how you can't get out of bed because you have the flu(but thanks to your handy dandy laptop, you're more than okay to make an update about it). The dismal traffic that you get more than likely means nobody gives a shit about what you think about current events.

Am I saying that my blog is great? No. I happen to think my blog sucks. I don't blog for the fame or glory, nor do I do it just to jump on the bandwagon. I blog because I enjoy telling stories. I do it because the people who read my blog happen to be my friends. I enjoy their comments and their input whenever I write about something that caught my fancy. Those people help create the stories just as much as my writing with the insights they leave on my comments. If you've noticed, I don't put up an update when I'm in a bad mood. No, I'm not in a bad mood now.

Would I write for Blogebrity? Sure, if they ask me to. But rest assured, I'll write in the same manner(I promised them cleaner) that I do now, about the blogs that closely resemble mine. I always thought blogging was more of a personal venture. This would be a chance to make the point more clear.

Asians In Trashville

Yesterday, I went to the Asian store to purchase the Asian apartment essentials.

Loads and loads of chicken feet, and slightly fertilized eggs. I also needed some 'weird yellow stuffs' for my cooking. Of course, the prerequisite two types of soysauce purchased by the gallon, and sacks and sacks of rice were purchased as well. And Snapple. Asians love Snapple.

Ahh.. the things you encounter in Pleasantville, NJ. She must've been really tired, cuz my flash was totally on, and it even made the fake camera shutter sound when I took this picture. My stealth skillz aren't up to par.

Click on that continue reading thing! I made more words and pictures!

Pepper Steak: A HOWTO Guide

What you need:

Steak. Any kind of steak, sliced into mouth sized pieces.
Peppers, red and green, sliced into slivers.
One very large onion. Sliced into rings.
Marinade stuffs.

The marinade is kind of a family secret, so I won't be revealing that here. But, the fact that it is rather integral to the overall taste of this recipe, I'll say that there's soysauce and spiced vinegar in it. You can experiment if you want, but you'll never get it right. I'd have to learn you. If you want to taste how it actually should taste and you eat meat, come over. Payment of sex is required.

Marinade meat for at least thirty minutes.

There should be a picture taken before this one, and there is a picture that exists. It is a picture of the sliced meat sitting in marinade. However, due to fear of photoshop type spectral analysis, that picture will never see the light of day.

The above picture is the meat frying in olive oil in a wok. They need to fry until they are well done. No pink meat in this dish.

Next, remove the yummy yummy meat without taste testing more than a couple from the fire. Put them in some temporary housing.

Add a bit more oil to the wok after removing the meat and then throw in the onions. Those require frying until they are nice and limp after absorbing all that nice oil/meatjuice/marinade combination.

Add in both peppers. They dont need to cook for very long, just until they're kinda limp, but not really.

Finally, add the meat back in and stiry fry. That's the masterpiece right there.

Serve over rice. Yes, wombat, over RICE. You are not to pick out the meat, slap mayonaisse on some white bread and make a sandwich out of them because you've been 'craving a pepper steak sandwich.'

That is all. Also, namflow.

Moving Day

It was a fine day for a move. I've already brought in small items here and there before the "actual" furniture move.

Thanks to kitsu for this housewarming present. It took the honor of being the very first item in my refridgerator. Other than the ice trays.

Fuck U-haul

This is my review of U-haul, the truck rental service ran by idiots.

It all started a few days ago when I reserved a truck for the move. I was told that it was to be picked up at the local hardware store on Saturday, 10 AM.

Saturday, 10 AM

"We don't do U-haul here anymore," said the hardware store clerk. In fact, they haven't taken care of U-haul's customers for over a year.

"So where is my truck?" I asked.

"We don't know, but you can go to this storage place, they do U-haul."

Clayton Storage, 10:15 AM

This place is manned by a giant douchebag who is only nice to people when they're there to give him money. The whole time I was there, the phone kept ringing. Every time he answered that phone, he was the biggest piece of shit, asshole to the person on the other line. He was also fat.

But, I have a truck.

Where My Furniture Is, Random Garage 11 AM

I overcompensated. This truck is way too large for the amount of stuff I own. Truck loaded within 15 minutes.

Joe Camel drove to the apartment.

The next two and a half hours or so was spent moving my furniture through automagically closing doors and the steepest flight of steps mankind has ever produced.

About an hour and a half of those two and a half hours was spent taking apart the railing at the top of the steps so we can get the extra-heavy couch through easier.

Here's how that hour and a half broke down:

30 minutes:

Trying to use the above "screwdriver" to unscrew the screws holding the railing to the wall. That mission was a complete failure.

30 minutes:

Waiting for shft's girlfriend to come back with a real screwdriver and something random that she picked out that she might've thought useful, but we didn't actually need at all.

Meanwhile, Camel dismantled the "screwdriver" made in China.

30 minutes:

After exerting more force on 5 screws getting them to come out than the entire move put together, the railing comes out.

Shft and blacjax went home after the couch made it upstairs.

Camel and brotherlyunit#2 went to pick up the rest of my stuff from random places while I waited for Comcast to show up and install my internets and the television. Window of installation: 2pm to 4pm.

3:45 PM

Camel and brother return with the rest of my things, plus a few things they picked up for me at random yard sales. Woo!

Comcast still isn't here.

4:02 PM

"Comcast, how can I help you?" came the voice on the phone.

"I have an appointment that was supposed to have started between 2pm and 4pm."

She was kind enough to track them down and give me a courtesy return call.
The technicians should be here in a few minutes.

4:30 PM, Comcast arrives.

They hook everything up almost perfectly. They also got the made in China screwdriver to actually work on something..(removing wall plate to tighten the connection and get rid of the snow on my television).

The rest of the day was spent getting bare necessities for the new apartment (lunch meat, bread, drinks, 5 gallons of mayonnaise, tunafish). All things considered, it was a very productive day. It ended with drinking and what have you.

Very heartfelt thanks to shftleft, blacjax, joe camel and jose for helping me move. Thanks to joe camel for the wonderful housewarming lopsided $1 recliner. Don't forget the party next weekend. Everyone's welcome to show up.

More pics to come...