planet crap

journal. thoughts. stories that didn't make it to the newspaper.

Death of the tacky shoes

I’ve had quite a work out last Tuesday.

I only had three hours of sleep but I still mustered the courage to wake up at 5 to drive my Lola to wherever she wanted to go early that day.

I went back home after finishing the task; I had to steal at least an hour of sleep.

And then it was time for to pretend to get a life, again.

I went to Havaianas’ annual Davao media gathering called Obrigado. It was where I ate two plates of an organic strawberry shortcake with impunity.

While in SM Lanang, I decided to give into my petty life problem that involved searching for the perfect pair of shoes.

I wanted to get rid of this pair that I bought last Sunday because the colors are too tacky; and I felt like I only bought it on impulse because of the 3-day sale (I later learned that Fila was having their own sale until the 16th).

A quick inquiry in the department store’s customer service confirmed my hunch about inter-store item exchanges: I can have my shoes exchanged in SM City Davao in Ecoland.

The style that I wanted didn’t have my size in Lanang.

So I drove to Ecoland for the exchange; my plan was genius. That was when the madness started.

Apparently, I didn’t ask enough questions when I was in Lanang; I missed some details.

When I reached Ecoland, I found out that inter-branch item exchanges do not allow returns of an item for a different type/style; they only allow returns for size exchanges.

I was crushed. I swear to God I was already planning on schemes to convince the department store manager: I would cry. Seriously.

It took some time to resolve the biggest problem of my universe.

The solution was to drive back to Lanang to exchange my current shoes to the design I wanted (but of a different size), and then have that shoe exchanged with my desired size in Ecoland.

The whole thing was confusing and was of less importance.

But I did it anyway.

From Ecoland, I went to Lanang. Then I went back to Ecoland.

By then I was already sick of air con, long rides, long drives, the traffic light, and the whole of humanity.

I just wanted my shoes.

And I did get what I wanted—after a total of three crazy hours of driving and waiting and pretending to be cute and talking to customer service and store managers.

It’s all worth it.

I now have the most handsome running shoes in the world (and I got them at a steal price).

There’s a bunch of good people I want to thank in the SM department store; I’m too lazy to mention them but I’m sure they have already been rewarded by the universe.

Now let the real workout begin.

Tag-Fila na?

Ten years ago (like, literally ten years ago), when I was in grade school, my Lola bought me a pair of Fila shoes for my daily life of pretending to be smart and then being bullied in a Christian school whatever (that’s an entirely different story).

Looking back, I realize how awesome life can be when people buy you shoes (now I just buy them myself thank you very much I wear size 8 in US po).

I don’t know where that teeny tiny pair of shoes has gone now but I still have the shoebox (I know right?) in the room next to where I sleep.

Anyway, Fila.

That pair of shoes wasn’t anything special. What particularly annoyed me were those moments when my classmates would notice it and ask me “Look, Fila shoes. Tag-Fila na?”

*the word “pila” in Cebuano/Bisaya loosely translates to cost/value; as in tag-pila (how much/ikura desu ka, bitch?).

Of course, they didn’t speak in English because they were dumb as hell; that was made pretty obvious with how they stupidly attempted at a pun.

Tag-Fila? Seriously? You can’t do any better than that?

Tag-Fila is sounds devoid of creativity and intellect. It is reeking of failure in terms of linguistic chorvaness. But who am I to judge? I am only pretending to be smart.

All these memories of grade school shit came back to me after my sister (gasp!) asked me the same question when I bought this pair of shoes in SM Lanang last Sunday.

It was on sale and I thought that it would be total madness if I just let a 60% discount get away.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, demonstrates how handsome shoes trigger old memories.

Old, shitty memories.

P.S.: I remember my classmate Clint ask me that Fila question before. He was one of the guys who bullied me back then. He’s dead. I don’t know how or when he died; it’s just that he’s dead. May his soul RIP.

I am too crazy to mention that.

5 things to do this weekend:

1. Experiment with Vine - even though there’s nothing about the app that interests me. I already have Cinemagram and that’s enough.

2. Check out the Grand Canyon - via Google Maps. Over 9,500 panoramas can now be viewed after Google’s Street View Trekker (its newest camera platform) went around the Grand Canyon since October. Through the interactive maps, anyone can now “Take a walk down the narrow trails and exposed paths of the Grand Canyon: hike down the famous Bright Angel Trail, gaze out at the mighty Colorado River, and explore scenic overlooks in full 360-degrees.”

3. Watch Paperman in YouTube - and preferably with someone to cuddle with. Oh, February.

4. Make music with Orphion - call a friend with an iPad and pretend to be extremely talented music artists. The app is available in the App Store for free.

5. Check out Menswear Dog in Tumblr - screw and worship the newest bow wow fashion icon in the Internetzzz.

That pseudo-fashion show

A brawl/riot of some sort ensued last night in Anda Street while we were eating durian in a corner.

A bunch of neatly dressed guys (aged 18-19) ran our way while some bystanders were yelling “hoi!” repeatedly.

Cars stopped in an intersection where the teens rushed by.

More teens came out of an auditorium where an event was held. Hearsays account of guys beating up another guy; the latter refused to resort to police assistance.

What happened?

In an ocular, we saw there was a fashion show (or something like that) held in the area. It appeared to be organized by one of those web popularity contests in Facebook because there were posters hung by the gate that bore the social networking site’s URL.

In an interview with one of the remaining guys in the area, it was revealed that one of the “designers/stylists” of the show provoked one of the teens (who were “models” in the show) in a blackmailing fashion (badum tss!); one claimed that they allegedly engaged in a sexual act with each other.

The teen was said to be denying the allegation; he later felt insulted. This brought him and his gang to assault the “designer/stylist,” causing a riot of some sort in the area. Bystanders said that the person assaulted was badly injured and was bleeding, bruised.

Is there any form of authority who is looking into the welfare of these teens (who are probably minors) involved in the events organized by Facebook web popularity contests? Are they being harassed? Or are they the ones harassing?

What happened last night wasn’t exactly alarming; it seemed petty. But people were hurt.

And horrible ensembles were probably showcased in the runway.

But we are more interested to hear from real authorities than the fashion police. For now.

These are not New Year’s resolutions

Because if this list were my 2013 resolutions, then I’m way past Earth’s deadline. This is just a list…of things.

Like, there are things that I promise to myself I’d do. And there are things that crop up randomly which I decide to do.

This 2013, I have told myself to

-hydrate more: drown in Gatorade, smother my face with moisturizer, and drink lots of pineapple juice. The idea of rehydrating sounds fun to me; it’s like pressing all four attack buttons in Tekken for a counter attack charge or something.

-drop the attitude: be less of a bitch of the people around me and to the snotty sales people in cheap malls. Ugh!

-buy more fun stuff: splurge on anything that’s colorful; I started with Topman underwear. My crotch feels so happy wearing vibrant prints.

-talk to my sister Maria more: she’s as crazy as I am.

-never go offline: apparently, I’m not online enough. When Temple Run 2 was made available for download in the Apple App Store earlier this week, I was offline. I was last in line when the news broke. Unacceptable!

I wonder why Tekken players don’t discuss character commands by the proper nouns.

"db+4_ CH qcf+2 CH ws+2 f+1 ws+2 f+1 ws+2 f+1+2 B!dash b+1,4" reads like college algebra to me!

And then I pored over Lili’s command list again. There’s Belier Attaque, Rompez Fleuret, Angel Knee, Dendrobium, and all the flowery girly stuff attacks.

I realized that no one can discuss Tekken and say those words without wearing a tiara and a dress.

Tekken ta, bai!

Attack of the chummy Tita from the depths of the unknown

I’m not so smart sometimes. Sometimes, I’m not so smart all the time.

I have confessed to my mother that there are some things about my family that I do not know about. I am referring to the family beyond the Boga and Pizarro circles.

I am not very knowledgeable with my super in-laws, my 124th degree cousins, and my titos and titas whom I’m pretty sure never really did anything significant to make my existence better.

And so when the time came that I had to drive everyone to a birthday party of a cousin whatever, I was caught in a sea of strangers.

There were grandparents whom I had to exchange mandatory pleasantries with. There were cousins whom I had to pretend I cared about. And there were titos and titas who were completely strangers to me. Gasp!

“Ay, ito pala si Jay-R!” they called, surprised. They talk so excitedly as if seeing me were like seeing light for the first time.

Who are these people? I gathered hints from the conversations that followed. Childhood. Take care. Seven years-old.

Oh, they’re those people who used to like me and take care of me back when I was still cute or something. Tita chummy pinched my cheeks.


And then came the question that caused planets to align: May girlfriend ka na?

You know those scenes in movies where people choke on dinner tables? Yes, I choked.

Not with a drink but with Jufran chili sauce.

I’m pathetic.

I really should have skipped the sauce. Dinner’s lechon wasn’t bland.

Another post-Tekken rant

Earlier today, I told someone that I tend to rant in my head every time I get beaten in Tekken.

When I lose in fighting games, I often find myself thinking and writing stuff in my head. These don’t only concern things about the game; I scream in my head about life and the miseries I’ve encountered in it.

Somehow, I am okay with that violent mental catharsis. A part of me wants to stay like this and in this insane state of mind. I want to stay worried about the most petty of things: shoes sizes, braces I never had for my teeth, and countless “could have done” ways to win a Tekken match that I’ve already lost.

I’ve been to this dark, dusty corner of my brain where I found piles of dirt that came alive to haunt me. Specks of that dirt clung on to my neck and ears. They constantly whisper heart-crushing words about how bad (really bad) the reality of my life is.

I never want to go back to that corner ever again.

Strangely, I am constantly drawn to that dark side. I muster a small amount of courage to check whether I’m ready to face the monsters of my lifetime.

More often than not, I end up crushed. Sometimes, I fight back and try not to get bruised.

In the end, I pretend that no battles were fought. I go back to my pretend worries and petty concerns regarding shoe sizes, braces for my teeth, and Tekken.

Lili and to fight like her is the only fantasy that keeps me going right now.

En garde!


Where u?


Naghahanap ng kaibigan na maaasahan sa hirap at sarap


Masarap ako. At mahirap. Shet.


haha mdr

Happy meal-ish

Dondie returned to our table with a tray: it had fries, a burger, a sundae, and a toy.

Jack Frost!

He bought a happy meal. That was our cue to have one too. Shyne had Tooth (the tooth fairy), Levi had the Sandman, and I had one of Santa’s elves.

They all look so adorable.

My first Happy Meal from McDonald’s after literally a decade of forgetting it existed. I think it’s less happier than its previous iterations, though.

I remember Happy Meals at 39 pesos. I remember the toy being housed in a fancy box. I remember the toy being real (and with less plastic; like the Matchbox cars).

Happy Meals have become cheap; they carry less happiness now. Curse you 2012!