In case you haven’t noticed, assholes roam around the planet. They’re everywhere. They are not hiding in the bushes wearing camouflage or something. Sometimes they are too in-your-face.
SIDE NOTE: I am about to post a rant. I just wanna check if blogging serves as a good shrink. I’ll get back to you some other time to report on this matter. If this doesn’t make me a better person, I’ll quit blogging.
Let me count the ways. Just a few minutes ago, I had a close encounter of a first-kind asshole. I asked a simple yes-no question and I got a yes-no answer. Well, a yes-no answer PLUS a contemptous comment. Syempre, kailangang patulan. I replied back, asking if the asshole was happy. Then a not-so-pleasant hiritan came after. Out of the blue, the asshole did a vanishing act leaving me with cute words like “you’re weird” and “bye”.
Here’s the deal. I don’t normally rant. If I rant, I do it to a third party (a close friend who doesn’t know the object of my “la haine”). If I don’t find that third party, I look for another close friend who might know the asshole. That’s biased. But the idea is for me not to disrobe my masculinity of just playing mum and not so “daldal” but I just want to explain and do a self-analysis. I’m an old dog, I know, but still, I wanna be spanked from time to time (so hard that it would shake my head down to epiphany).
At this point, I wanna shout something like “I hate THAT asshole!”. But it’s not me. I don’t wanna kill an asshole (the world needs people like them for the sake of the so-called balance).
The other option for me is to get a good sleep. I just snore it out. After that, I’m back to my self again. A not so pleasant way, but I promise, it’s effective, is the one similar to what the saint did when she met the devil in the toilet (check out my previous entry “Meeting Fassbinder”).
It hasn’t happened yet that after doing those “panic buttons”, anger is still in my veins. I’m not the “mapagtanim” type. I let it go. Life is short, remember? Too purist to say but being mad is a sin. But wait, that doesn’t mean that I’m practicing it. Hahaha.
Life’s a bitch.