Ever wondered why the Philippines is a third world country?
Corrupt government officials aside, I’ll show you how *some* government employees spend their business hours.
You see, normal people, like me, pay lots of taxes to the government year after year after year. These taxes should go to the benefit of the people — help the poor, build schools, improve public healthcare and such.
It’s almost 3PM where I live and as you guess it, people in government offices should be working.
But not this unknown person. Meet I.P address 184.108.40.206. From this point going forward, I’ll refer to him as Mr. 202.
A couple of hours ago, Mr. 202 left a comment on my blog, according to Typepad.
A quick search on whois records will reveal that this ip address belongs to — shock horreur — The Office of the President of the Republic of the Philippines in Malacanang Palance, Manila. Check it out yourself: www.whois.sc/220.127.116.11.
OMG. The President is reading my blog. Whoopeedo.
NOT. Can you imagine?
I’m actually not pissed off with 202′s comments. I mean hello — it takes one faggot to know another, sweetheart. This person probably can’t get it on with a girl so off he goes on a little manhunt.
However… with all the things going on inside
one’s country, this little schmuck of an office
worker had the nerve to spend the taxpayers’
money to actually browse random blogs during
Hello you rancid fool — you’re not being paid to read people’s blogs.
The last thing the Philippines need at this point is some blog espionage center.
This is just one of those little things that idle, lazy-arsed government clerks do on their spare time… sending text messages and gossip amongst coworkers optional.
On that note, I now hope that you, worldwide folk, know why the Philippines ain’t goin anywhere.
For the first time ever, I’ll be spending Christmas away from home.
That’s right, me and my immediate familia de horreur will spend our our Christmas on one of the islands here, Boracay. My parents have this time share thing with Club Panoly that they haven’t used it for quite some time, so we’re going there on Dec. 23 – 26th.
I hate Club Panoly. It’s on the far end of the island and going to where the action is takes forever.
Anyway, my sister and I will extend though cause 3 nights ain’t enough to catch up for some real tan action. We’ll probably extend until the 28th or the 30th. It depends cause finding accomodation at this time of the year is so hard. It’s worse than being on the waiting list for a Birkin bag. I already booked a suite from 26th until the 28th at Boracay Beach Resort, but it’s sold out from the 28th onwards.
Boracay is alright. It’s nothing special. We go here twice a year, usually for a week during summer (friends) and during winter (family)… but never on a holiday season. It gets packed during the summer with all sorts of people from the big cities — I swear, it’s just like this huge market place with market people. Boracay is basically this cheap fix whenever you want some sea, sun, sand and a tan. There really is nothing to see because the island is so small. It’s no Mustique, St. Barths or Ibiza. Amanpulo is still the best island around here.
Anyway, so there.
1) Wear fabulous shoes.
My sister got her internship at a firm simply because she minced around on her 4 inch Dolce & Gabbanas. It made this clickity heels noise and the interviewer asked her where her shoes are from — the old woman and her had the same shoe size and they both had the same taste in shoes.
2. Flirt with the security guard or the nearest human male near reception.
3. Mince your way into the interviewing room.
4. FIRST IMPRESSIONS COUNT.
Flash that billion dollar smile and give your interviewer a wink when you first open the door.
5. Smile lots and answer his/her questions.
6. Do not touch anything on the table. Put your hands either on your hips, lap or keep your arms folded in front of your chest.
7. Keep in mind that interviewing is such a horrible task. I bet you 100% that THAT person hates his/her job so much cause all they bloody do is sit behind some rancid desk interviewing unemployed mortals (like you) pretending someone they’re not just to get a job. They see all sorts of these desperate jobseeker bimbos every day. Don’t project a fake impression.
8. Try to insert some spice and happiness into your conversation. Your fun attitude might be the key to getting that job.
9. Don’t forget to wiggle your butt out and airkiss the person before you leave.
If everything goes for the worst, or if he/she is asking you hard
questions, rub your nipples, lick your fingers in front of him
and tell him/her "let’s party sweetie!"
and then that’s it. Good luck!
One of my "passive revenue" streams is selling web hosting services.
What exactly is passive revenue?
Passive revenue is basically an effortless source of income where you pretty much don’t have to do anything — or at least in this case, just minimal work. I probably get around mid-4 figures a year on web hosting. I don’t know the exact amount… my accountant knows it for sure.
And no. Passive revenue ain’t lying down on the bed with your legs spread wide and your orifice opened up to mankind and then ya get shitloads of cash from papa.
I get this Web Host Manager access where I create accounts for my hosting clients, email them all the necessary information to get set up and presto!
The only work involved other than the initial setup (which frankly, takes no more than 5 minutes) is the occasional, odd email when they have issues – i.e. when they made a wrong setting on their email client, or when the server had a brief downtime etc. But it’s all good.
Anyway. because of the number of hosting accounts that I currently have (around 180), I decided to get my own dedicated server, rather than one of those "shared server" things. This will allow me to give more space to my clients and a better control overall. Also, both my clients and I won’t share our sites with any other websites we do not have control of, just like in a shared server environment.
The best part is, I don’t have to worry about the dedicated server cause it’s all fully managed — monitoring, updates, patches, everything… and I get 24/7 access to support staff and technicians.
The company I’m getting the dedicated server from is basically someone I’ve dealt with for almost 3 years – so I know these guys.
So yeah… I placed my order about a week ago and it arrived last Friday. They’re just configuring it now and I’m waiting for all the info. They told me to it should be ready either today or tomorrow – my fingers (and toes) are crossed.
God. I just got up a couple of minutes ago.
Note to self: do not go clubbing on a weekday ever again.
I just got up after sleeping for 7 full hours. I don’t usually sleep that much but I was soo knackered when I got home.
I met up and spent quality time with an old friend (and his friends) last night at this Paul Van Dyk thing after a little more than a year of not really talking to each other. It’s a long story, but it was nice to see him again. It was alright — there were LOTS of people, the tents were packed and everyone was dancing and on drugs. Although his music is nice, I’m not really into trance-y tunes etc. I like house and I like it deep. I like it vocal. I like it funky. I like it dark. I like it dirty.
It’s funny cause since 2002-mid 2003, pretty much each and every weekend consisted of going to clubs, popping pills, snorting all sorts of every imaginable powder available, from coca plants to horse anesthesia. Even if I did all sorts of stuff when I was much, much younger, that time has to the the most drug-fuelled period ever. I took a year and 6 month-long hiatus (i.e. detox) from that and I came back to the ‘scene’ yesterday and people are still doing the same thing.
Yesterday I told my friend we’ll try to be sober — not necessarily as sober as the pope… but no pills… or K. It was good. I had a couple of vodka red bulls until temptation struck us — chemical substances at times like this were inevitable. So off I got 2Gs of C. I gave one to my friend and I kept one for myself. I took 2 hits in the toilets and nothing else. I just couldn’t get myself to do more of it. I couldn’t be bothered at all.
I’m not dissing people who *still* do it. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against those people. I mean, it’s fun and all… but personally, after time, you just get sick of it… really sick of it. My father had always told me since we were kids, "too much of everything is bad" – and it’s true indeed. Yes, bad habits die last… but at least I evolved.
I think i’ll lay off chemicals for a bit (just as I have done for awhile now) and focus on some of the most important things in life — family, work and myself… without the influence of anything.
Anyone wants some leftovers then? I’d give it for free. *kiddin*
Last night’s outfit:
- Abercrombie & Fitch top
- Old Alexander McQueen Jeans
- Old cowboy boots I got at Ebay.com for $13 then I spray painted it silver
- Chanel bag and Chanel belt
- Urban Outfitters brooch that I put on the pocket
- Dior gambler bracelets
- Franck Muller watch
Haaaaaaallelujah! There is a god afterall.
I guess we’re one of the lucky ones. We survived… with no damages whatsoever other than chronic boredom for a night.
The typhoon passed our house last night. I got up at 6:00PM yesterday and it was in full swing. If you were in our house, you’ll think it’s the end of the world. You can hear the wind giving the country a blowjob. It’s like, the sky is "crying" and there’s something wrong in the air. Thank god the winds were high so all we heard are like noises — there wasn’t even that much rain either.
We didn’t have power until dawn today. I spent the entire night doing nothing. I’ll sleep for an hour or two, get up for a bit, ask my parents whether there’s electricity or not… and when they said no, I slept again. It went on like that for far too long. Life is really hard if you don’t have electricity… or internet access.
My hand also normalized, after a disaster in St. Tropez. It’s back to its former glory. No more traces of Wacko Jacko, Whitney, Beyonce and Louis Vuitton on my palms.
I’ll keep you guys posted in a bit. I’m sooo backlogged with emails and work it’s not even funny.
BTW, thank you very much for all the comments on my posts. Keep them coming. I’ll respond to all of them in another blog entry — promise.
We’ve got another storm coming up and we’re bracing for the hit either today or tomorrow.
I’m actually kinda scared cause I’ve got my wireless internet antenna unit/dish whatever you call it, installed up our roof. Let’s just hope the winds won’t blow it off otherwise I’m dead. I stole a pic from the NOAA so you’ll know what I’m talking about.
Wish me luck!
I’m emotionally-scarred (for life) right now.
After my not-so-recent trip to Russia, I thought I looked all bloodless and pale and I need a tan badly. There are 3 ways for me to get a tan. First, do it au naturel. Second, go to the salon and get airbrushed (mystic tan — i love it. so poi-fect!), and lastly, good ol DIY. Unfortunately, jetting off somewhere el tropical is not feasible so the only option I’ve got is to fake it.
I have to admit that I’m no virgin when it comes to tan-in-a-bottle stuff. Generally, I use Dior Bronze — it’s fast, it’s safe, it’s easy and j’adore the color. It’s my favourite. Another one that I like is Peter Thomas Roth. I’ve also used Clarins and Lancaster. It takes ages for me to tan with Clarins while the latter is quite streaky. Lancaster also makes me look as if I’m a hepatitis/jaundice victim.
2 Months ago, I bought a couple of DIY St. Tropez stuff (tanning lotion, mousse and self-tan remover) to test it. I tried St. Tropez at a salon before and I got good results. I was planning to bring it with me to Moscow but I forgot it at home.
So yesterday, off I brought out my little unused bottle of St Tropez tanning lotion. I followed the instructions. Scrub, exfoliate and moisturize. Scrub, exfoliate and moisturize.
I applied the lotion throughout my body with my bare hands. I had the self-tan remover so I was quite confident that my hands will look alright so I didn’t use gloves… none of that repulsive "I-stuck-fingers-up-somebody-else’s-dirty-ass" look. A few minutes later, I used the remover and washed my hands.
Hand check: Jessica Simpson 2 shades darker
4 hours and a shower later, I’m thinking "ooooo" and "ahhhhhh". Lovin it so far — but I’m not yet satisfied. I want a darker color. I want a color that screams "I huffed and I puffed and I spent 8 hours a day, every day for 7 days at the beach, sea, sun and sex on the sand in broad daylight."
So off I tried the mousse… again, using my bare hands, I applied a thick coat all over my body.
And this is where the disaster began.
Hand check: Michael Jackson in Jackson 5
I used the self-tan remover on my fingers and on my palm. I rubbed, scrubbed and washed.
Hand check: Whitney Houston in the 80′s
I rubbed, scrubbed and washed.
Hand check: Vintage Louis Vuitton trunks
I rubbed, scrubbed and washed.
At this point, I gave up. It’s official. Although my body have this rich, fantafuckintabulous tan, my hands look like wood. It is sooo gross! What’s worse is I’m gonna be like this for days… or weeks. Who the hell knows?
There is no friggin way I’m gettin out of the house with hands like this. Good tan gone the drain thanks to my hands.
My worst nightmare became a reality.
In a way it’s a blessing in disguise that I didn’t use it in Moscow. Otherwise, I’ve got a ruined holiday.
Lesson learned: use gloves when visiting St.
Tropez in late November.
It’s official – my hands do look like wood.
It feels so weird to be home. It’s been several days since I got back and I’ve only been away for only 3 weeks and it’s like my house doesn’t feel like a "home".
I hate this odd, after-travel feeling. It’s one of the nastiest feelings ever. I simply could not function. I can’t work. I can’t reply to all of my work-related emails.
For the past 36 hours, all I’ve done is email some people, talk to a few of my clients, spent an enormous amount of time on BlogExplosion, paid some of my bills, sent a FedEx envelope to the USA, sleep, eat, sleep, sleep, browse some sites, etc.
Nothing productive, to be honest. Even my body clock is fucked up. I’ve been sleeping at 2PM and getting up at around 8PM when normally, I sleep at 4AM and get up at 11AM.
How long would it last? I have no idea. I definitely need to get my act together. I’ve got lots of pending projects, waiting clients, etc.
I’ll keep you posted in a bit.
Oh. my. god.
My mother recently bought this digital weighing scale and she asked me to try it out. It’s been ages since I last weighed myself and I think I got a bit skinnier after going through 6 lipodissolve sessions (on my stomach and arms) before I left for my holiday.
Imagine genuine shock and horror when I found out my true weight.
A staggering onehundredtwentyfuckingnine pounds. At fivefuckingfeetnine short.
Never in my life I have been so obese. Ever. I have always thought I’m in the 110-117 pound range. Perhaps the digital scale was a cheat? Perhaps it’s the breakfast I just had? All I had on was a cotton t-shirt and boxer shorts.
That’s it. I’m really taking the Reductil pills I’ve been keeping. I stopped taking them yesterday because reading the insert made me freak out… I only took 2 capsules so far, one on Sunday and one on Monday.
Before I left for Moscow, my doctor told me it would be nice to meet up with her after my trip so we can "catch up" on things…. and now I’m terribly ashamed because I think I gained weight.
Ugh. I’m sooooo pissed at myself it’s not even funny.