A minute ago my friend who just graduated from MIT (Mapua Institute
of Technology; which is not in Massachusettes nor does it producee badly
groomed, barely sane physicists who are bound to invent a time machine)
called me up and basically whined about not being able to get a job. I
pity her, I really do. I mean I know some people who graduated from far less prestigious
colleges, ones that only require you to sleep through your classes, have
a clean car and money to buy tickets to your school’s next basketball game. That’s a hell lot easier as opposed to having to
reconstruct the Eiffel tower as your thesis isn’t it? I lost my point somewhere
back there but I think I was about to mention some people having a job that
gets paid thrice the median pay for an entry-level position. That’s
saying a lot since all they do is surf the internet, watch porn and
occasionally pick lint off the carpet using their tongues. Some people also own 3,082
hectares of virgin rain forest somewhere in South America but I
digress–What I’m really thinking of right now is how the hell did they do
it?

The unemployment rate in the country
is rather alarming and leads one to think that there is no God. Being the philanthropist that I am, I feel that it behooves me
to write a definitive guide for all the people who think that serving
fries over at McDonalds is the best thing since sliced bread; for all
the ignorant college graduates who think that being a rock star is a
career path that is worthy of their best efforts and for all the Taong
Grasas who think that applying grease all over their bodies and
carrying around random scraps of metal and human waste is cool and hip.

The opportunities are endless

One
needs to set aside any inhibitions and prejudice it has against the
government and the number of jobs available because let me tell you
something—There are enough jobs in the Philippines to provide employment to
the whole population of China and Bolivia combined. You just need to
open your
eyes to see that there are a lot of career paths just waiting
for you to discover. Below are a few examples:

It’s not
going to be any surprise to anyone if I say that I had another sinful weekend
of unbridled, immoderate self indulgence. Alcohol and wantonness of course, are
requisite components of which.

My friend
Brian has recently purchased himself a nice, cozy condo unit and left us, his
friends, to do our own fucked up version of a housewarming party. You see, boys
do this thing a little differently.

Women usually prefer sitting around cooing and making all sorts of giggly
noises about the cute little gifts they brought. They bring crates upon crates
of cookies, pastries and cake and after they’ve exhausted their supply, they
proceed to play their sappy games. The latter part of the party is usually
spent sitting around some more, drinking their ritzy cocktails and talking
about their clitorises, cervical mucous and menstrual blood. Pffft. Boring.

Guys, on
the other hand manage to intersperse our drunken conversations with a broader
range of topics. We talk about what comprises a good blowjob, how one of our
girlfriends’ breasts is slightly larger than the other, how long should
foreplay be and what our favorite sexual act is.

Guys
simply do it better.

I must’ve
stood in front of Nixie’s doorstep with my tongue lolling like a dog’s for
fifteen minutes. Fifteen fucking minutes; can you believe that?

“Hey
Mike!” Nixie says flashing a smile that could melt the polar icecaps.

“Seriously
Nixie, how do you expect me not to rip your clothes off like a boy opening a Christmas
present when you…” I decided not to finish the sentence and opted to smile like
an idiot instead.

“…look so
damn hot?” She offered.

She was
wearing a pink miniskirt and some sort of silky baby blue blouse with one of
those stylish fabric belts. Even her raven black hair is styled differently,
parted and pulled back neatly with a ponytail allowing her pretty face to stand
out. She’s wearing wedges. The truth was, I was about to ask her ‘How do you expect me not to fall for you
when you look like a different gorgeous girl every time I meet up with you?’ but
I decided at the last second that she might interpret that to mean that I’m
fantasizing about different girls instead of what I really meant – That she
abso-fucking-lutely looks lovely every time I see her.

“You read
minds now too huh? Tell me something you can’t do.” I said feeling lousy with
my rolled up long sleeved button down, black slacks and grimy shoes.

“Well come
on in!” She said taking in what I was wearing. Shit.

“Nixie, I
was meaning to ask you; I mean, I’m not the type of guy who normally goes nuts
over perfume, but I can’t resist the one you’re wearing now. What’s it called?”
I ask stepping in and closing the door behind me.

She turns
to face me after turning on the stereo. Alicia Keys’ sang ‘If I aint got you’
on cue “I’m not wearing any.” She smiles teasingly. “Maybe you should just come
to terms with the fact that what you can’t resist is me.” My heart skipped a beat.

Sometimes
you just have it coming. You drank a lot last night and you’re sure as hell
that you’re going to pay for it. I mean do the math. X+Y=Z. ‘X’ represents the
total number of beers you downed. ‘Y’ is the total hours of sleep you’ve had.
And ‘Z’ is the monster hangover that’s going to kick your sorry little ass down
a flight of stairs.

Of
course, there are preventive measures you can take. Who knows? You might get
away with an underhanded preemptive strike. You could drink gallons of water
before crashing to bed, pop some Ponstan or whatever; but everybody knows that
these rarely work and chances are still good that you’re not going to simply
walk away from all of this feeling anything less than a very bad day in hell.

Surprisingly,
there are mornings when you wake up doubled up in a fetal position expecting
the dreaded thing to hit you from all sides but realize that Lord Hangover
feels unusually merciful today. These are the rare occasions when you rise from
your hangover like fucking Lazarus. You were a stiff dead guy the night before
but you kind of shoot out of your tomb this morning, got yourself some
breakfast complete with that somewhat brackish cup of instant coffee and
everything seems to be normal.

I don’t
know how this sort of thing happens, but I rolled off bed today relatively
unscathed. There’s this ringing on my left ear, but other than that I feel
peachy.

You see,
last night, I went out boozing with my good friend Jenan; it feels weird
to go out drinking on a Friday night instead of the usual Saturday night, but I
figured that since I’m a normal person now who works through a regular 9am to
6pm shift, I might as well get used to it. We sat down to talk and have coffee somewhere
in West Avenue to help cleanse the putrid stream of alcohol
running through our system.