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Monthly Archives: August 2012

It’s a cozy Friday night. 9:00 PM. And I’m still sitting here in the office, killing time. There ain’t nobody else here in the whole floor other than me and the night shift guard, who’s watching basketball with his feet propped up on a chair. I’m practically stuck here because me and my aunt brought the car with us, so I can’t just leave her here in the corporate kingdom. She’s off doing some business. Not that I mind her getting some time for herself. She’s the office workaholic and she rarely gets time to do pamper herself. The only thing that bothers me is that if boredom was a weapon, I’d be laying on the operating table right now.

Facebook is blocked by the network security. Can’t troll anybody. I could use my rotting Twitter account since it’s somehow unblocked and it could use some dusting, but I just don’t have the feel for the whole thing. I’ve always thought Twitter was a contraption made to cater to popular people and their emotions. You can’t let too much of what you have inside yourself be leaking out; that’s a pit that showbiz people tend to fall into and sometimes, never get out off. Then again, in this new age, where social media is seemingly becoming a need, I guess there has to be some compensation. That’s where Twitter comes in. Now that I look at myself, I’m blogging nonsense, so am I any different? Other people might think I’m nuts. They might not be lying.

I’m trying to look for something productive to do with the Internet. Instead I came across this foolish Yahoo! article about why men should shave their beard, chest hair, back hair, neck hair, pluck their eyebrows and use moisturizers. My search for productivity ended right there. There were so many things wrong with that article, it was violating.

1) Has metrosexuality and that sorry excuse for music people call K-Pop and Justin Bieber begun to replace the image of a true man’s man? The facial hair makes the man! I’m personally fancying my goatie. I shave my ‘stache every 2 days but once my beard starts manifesting itself in its entire glory, there ain’t no stopping that. These androgynic homosexuals are infesting the entertainment industry like a plague. Please don’t infect us with what you think is even close to manly.

2) We are not shaving our body hair. I’d rather take non-chalant walks down the beach with my heart-shaped chest hair, thank you.

3) You have to have terribly low self-esteem if you think plucking your eyebrows is going to solve anything. And even if you do have self-esteem, brow plucking is a sign that you assess yourself based on what others think about you. Get a life. And live it by your rules, not by others. You are a man.

4) I’ll admit I’m a bit religious about my face; in the sense that I despise oil nesting on it. Facial hair makes the man, but pimples are disgraceful and painful to have. I could live with a few, but not big, red, pulsating volcanoes. I hate moist skin, and now you’re telling me I should use a moisturizer? Why don’t I just skip bathing all together? Kill yourself, please.

That article was written on the women’s part of Yahoo!, apparently. No offense but sorry women, not falling for that. We can all find a middle ground to negotiate with, but do not touch my chest hair. I give Catherine massages using lotion upon request, but that’s as far as I’m going with regards to touching beauty products. How would you feel if we took and hid your makeup?

That’s right.

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Dem onions

Contrary to popular belief, hamburgers aren’t of North American origin. ‘Burger’ wasn’t a real word until slang talk came into the scene. History indicates that the burger patty has been around since the 12th century. Back then, they used minced horse and camel meat. It wasn’t until the first half of the 19th century that European immigrants brought the beef recipe with them from Hamburg, Germany to North America. It was called a Hamburg Steak during that time, go figure.

There isn’t any certain source of information as to how the idea of putting the steak between two slices of bread came about — German and American historians haven’t come to an agreement on that — but whoever did is a Godsend.

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Since I have formally signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement with the office (something that I should have done way back when I started as an Intern but received orders to do so only now), I’m no longer authorized to talk about matters relevant to the data we handle. I can, however, still talk about general conversations within the place, for as long as I’m not disclosing confidential information; which I won’t be.

I was asked to aid an executive yesterday about an online registration process. After making a dry run at the process itself at my station, I went to the place and directed the executive to the website. They’re a friendly bunch. Most of them are coming of age, but oozing with wisdom. So they’re easy to get along with.

While I was sitting on the cushioned throne opening the website, they started interviewing me, in a way. I told them my Practicum was over, that I was doing work for the office only as a Volunteer Worker because school is brutal bla bla bla. Then…

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I spent 3 out of 4 nights of the long weekend chugging down alcohol. My liver must hate me right now. No beers were served in any of those, to top everything off. Budget drinking was the norm because beer is expensive, and everyone’s grown conscious about the bulk of their bellies.

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