Temporary stupidity may actually make you smarter in the long run...

My laptop's memory is almost full, so I decided to skim some files to delete. I took a break from reading "Strategies For Teaching" because frankly, after a long steady diet of magazines and trashy novels, reading something so, er, school-y again was giving me a mild headache.

I found some old blogs circa 2007-08. I don't remember if I published them in my previous Multiply or FB sites. But one stood out because I laughed when I read it. More than two years later and I still got the same sentiments. Haha.

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May 7, 2008, Wednesday, 8:06 AM

It’s hard and it sucks: choosing between doing the right thing and doing what you want. Isn’t it frustrating that more often than not, the right thing is the hardest thing to do, and what we want is usually illicit, forbidden or just plain stupid and wrong.

When faced with a confused and distraught friend facing such a dilemma, I try to refrain from giving a concrete advice or a definite answer. I would let her rant, rave and wear herself out talking and crying. Then I would tell her, follow your instincts. I know, I know, it’s cliché and a play-safe answer and probably not what she wants to hear, but really, it is the only way.

When we are mere spectators and are not involved in the crisis, it’s easy to fall into the trap of seeing things in black and white. But come on, if we’re the ones in that person’s shoes, when emotions come to play, we can’t think logically. Things aren’t as simple as right versus wrong. Everything’s gray… or red, or pink or whatever, depending on the mood. I mean if things were that simple, then I don’t think that person would’ve come to me for advice.

What makes it harder is when people like friends and family, who are understandably just concerned about us, are pushing us to do the right thing. We clash when we insist on following our desire, running the risk of looking like fools, of getting hurt, and crawling back to them and enduring their I-told-you-so’s.

But as I’ve said, my sole advice is to follow your guts. Take their well-meaning words with a grain of salt, but do what your heart’s telling you. OK, that sounded straight out of a Hallmark card, but hey, it’s true. If you end of falling smack in your face, well at least no one can accuse you of being someone else’s sissy puppet. You won’t have to live asking yourself, what if, wondering what might have been if you followed your own.

I believe in learning from your own mistakes; pain is an effective teacher. Don’t we always remember the mistakes that hurt the most and the lessons that came from them? Isn’t it that when we were kids, our parents would tell us, don’t run, you might fall and hurt yourself, and we won’t listen? Then we go home with red scrapes across our knees, bawling because it hurts like hell, and you can bet we won’t be running around for a while.

Don’t be scared of looking stupid; people all make stupid mistakes everyday. It’s not really the error you commit, but how you turn them to your advantage. It’s like stumbling in front of a huge crowd, and instead of crying right in the middle, you stand up, brush of the dirt and flip the goddamn hair. Taray lang, dabaz? Everybody falls at some point in their lives, but not everyone gets up with such remarkable grace and chutzpah.

Now this doesn’t mean you turn into an impulsive ass. If it’s worth it, then hell yeah, fight for it. Otherwise, know when and how to let go. Remember it’s your life, and it’s gonna be you, not your best friend or your sister or any snotty self-righteous bitch, who’s going to sit in front of your grandchildren telling them how grandmama had the balls to go for what she really wants.

As my favorite quote from Kiko Miranda goes, “Make mistakes, make many mistakes…. but never make the same mistake twice.”

I'm talking in circles. Somebody give me the next shot.

Joggin'

I don't jog to get to lose weight, and I say this without any trace of smugness. If there actually was a way jogging would make my butt and chest bigger, I'd do it every single day!

Team sports bore me (so much for being a team player!). Ever since I got hit on the face by a basketball while watching a pickup game when I was in fifth or sixth grade, I have a strong aversion towards ballspleasewipethatdirtythoughtoffyourmind! But really, even tennis balls scare the shit out of me.

I was a cheerleader in high school because I liked prancing around in short skirts better than jostling with other smelly players for a jump ball or a spike. If I were to get all sweaty might as well do it with pompoms and ribbons and look all good and girly, right?

I jog because I like the alone time, just me and whoever's on shuffle mode in my iPod (right now it's Britney Spears, the Glee cast, Mario and Paramore). I don't even like jogging with someone, lest I might be expected to make small talk and God knows how much I despise that, especially when every breath should be conserved for the running.

I don't just jog anywhere. It has to be around campus, most often around Baker and the Freedom Park. My ideal time would actually be early morning, best when it just rained the previous night. But since I hoard waking up late in the morning (since I'm always up at the crack of dawn, or I just got into bed before dawn after a night of partying), I settle for late afternoon, around 5 pm. It also allows me to people watch, as the place is usually crammed with families on picnics, couples canoodling on the grass, and other sports fanatics. On a good day I'd spot another runner with really great ass. Ah, motivation. Sometimes I'd take Ging to play or run, but right now she prefers to stay at the computer shop or read her pocketbooks than tag along with old foggy Mom. Pre-teens, hay.

I run when I'm really happy or really down, but curiously not when I'm bored. If I'm bored I'd rather sleep or watch dvd's. When I'm happy, the endorphins make me extra high, like I feel I could do anything. When I'm sad or angry, running's a great stress reliever and the solitude is a fine opportunity to mull over stupid mistakes and plan my enemy's demise, nyaha. It's good detox as well after a night of excessive drinking, whoo.

And for some weird reason, my running shoes should be pink, or else I don't get inspired at all.

Britney, one more time

Imagine how pissed I was last Wednesday when I rushed to get home so I can watch the Britney Spears Glee episode only to find out our cable was disconnected just that afternoon. Apparently, I left two months worth of cable bill in my jewelry box and found it there the following morning. Red alerts of aging, anyone?

In preparation, Britney was on repeat mode in my iPod on my ride home, so I really wanted to burn down the CCV office right then and there. Luckily, I was able to watch it online today and loved it so much. Thank you Brit for saving me from being an arsonist.

Most teenage girls during the latter half of the 90's to the early 2000's can relate to Britney Spears. She was probably the Lady Gaga of our angst-ridden, love-sick growing up years. Although most dismissed her saccharine sweet but sexually-laced music as silly bubblegum pop, nobody can deny that when you hear the words "Hit me baby" or "Ooops I did it again," it's gonna stick to you for the rest of the day. Up to this day, I never fail to sing one Britney song during videoke sessions or resist dancing whenever her tunes come up in the DJ's playlist.

My first real exposure to Britney was when we bought our first desktop computer. There was a preloaded concert video of Britney back in 2000 in Hawaii. I remember watching it over and over again, and although I wasn't that impressed with her voice, I coveted her abs and dancing prowess the moment she popped on stage in shimmering skin-tight pants and cropped top and started gyrating to her highly addictive songs. Here's an innocent looking gril who sang openly about love and sex and boys while looking so damn fine. We all wanted to be her.

Years later, growing up in the limelight while earning ridiculous amount of money finally caught up with Britney and everyone started dismissing her as another crazy, mixed up Hollywood kid. Some already considered her a has-been. And while I smirked every time I would see a picture of her without underwear or read a news bit of yet another DUI incident or rehab entry, I also felt sad for someone who was such an idolized star before.

She's not a role model for the faint-hearted, but she's definitely someone a troubled person yearning for a redemption story, can look up to. She's had many boo-boos - that awkward VMA number, underwear allergy phase, custody battles and that icky K-Fed thing - but she always came back up, well, "Stronger than yesterday..."

I may not want to be her now, making mistakes in front of the whole world. I don't want to make her blunders or go through her humiliation. But I can say I want a little Britney Spears in me, some bit of that courage, that tiny piece of can't-bring-me-down 'tude, a pinch of determination and a smudge of hot momma-ness.

So, yay for Glee, and yay for Britney!

Where's your pride, girl?

It's a misguided sense of pride. It's not love anymore. You can't accept the fact that he left you for a girl who's already attached - his friend's girl for crying out loud! - while you rode yourself to the ground trying to give him everything he can possibly want. Maybe he didn't make himself clear enough - he wanted a girlfriend, not a doormat.

Your pride will not her win. You hold on to him not because you're obsessed or still madly in love. He's not enough that good-looking, he treated you like crap and his bedroom skills leave much to be desired. You find it unfair that while she has a loyal boyfriend who turns a blind eye towards her indiscretions and a boy toy to romp the sheets with any time she itches, you're all alone, pining after a love long lost and the deafening ticking of your biological clock resonating loudly inside your empty body.

But you're like a dog who won't let go of a bone because you have this crazy notion that in the end, he will still pick you. That you will win... eventually.

So for now, it's okay for you to look stupid and crazy and pathetic. Your eye is on that one victorious day that you will regain your rightful place inside his boxers. So focused are you that everybody -including the two of them probably - has long ago realized that you are blindly fighting for a prize that is so worthless to call it such is so damn funny.