Posted by: nastypen | September 3, 2008

It’s a School Night

…and I just downed five glasses of Red Horse beer and smoked 8 sticks of Marlboro reds in an hour. It’s a night of commiseration. Something happened to somebody I know which entailed him losing a job in these difficult times and we need a drink…or five.


I spoke to my mother long distance yesterday. I haven’t spoken to her for weeks because she and I were so busy. My mother lovingly reminded me yet again to control my legendary temper lest I will die from a heart attack. I told her I have been teaching for more than a year and so far my students have not seen me angry nor have the coteachers really seen THE FULL FORCE of my anger. (Yes, Mikee, the time you saw me angry was nothing. It was the equivalent of picking my nose versus a violent sneeze.) I kinda miss my volcanic eruptions. It was fun striking fear at officemates back in the day.


Wait…I have to drink my sixth glass of Red Horse beer.


I am not feeling well. My throat is acting up again. One professor told me that this is the teacher’s affliction. Funny, I thought the teacher’s affliction is an anorexic salary.


Here’s me listening to a friend’s discussion on what he saw on TV recently:

It was a news item on incest. When asked how come she allowed her father to do the nasty with her, the incest “victim” told the reporter, “Ibang klase kasi shang gumalaw. Kung sumibasib, para nya kinakain ang buong katawan ko.” (He moves differently. When he goes down on me, it’s like he is eating me whole.”


Sumibasib” (Tagalog for ‘to dive or go down on someone’) is the word of the week.


I couldn’t wait. I downloaded Hell Boy 2. I hate it that it took millennia to show the film here. So, I downloaded it and watched in twice in a span of 12 hours. I love this more than Iron Man and The Dark Knight. In the film, I now know the reason for Barry Manilow‘s existence.


Addie just called me if I was drunk. I am not. He asked me to say the alphabet. I said, “A…B….C….G….”


I went to UP Diliman today. Dropped by the College of Fine Arts to see old professors. It was weird being back. The place looks so…clean. There were neat rows of drawing tables and the walls were bare. There were students who are wearing ski caps. I just love it when youth tries to push an identity at the risk of looking silly. I remember wearing grungy flannels at a 36-degree humid day.


One professor at Fine Arts told me that the teachers at that particular college get a full load of nine units instead of the usual 12. He said that they teach nine units and the three extra units were for “Creative practice.” He asked me my load this semester. I told him it was 18 units. There was pity in his eyes.


“Creative practice!?” I wish I had that. Instead I go home exhausted while my boxes of clay and blank canvases stare at me. This is only unique to the faculty of the College of Fine Arts. They fought for this privilege. It was the only time I envy the faculty of the Fine Arts. They asked me if I want to transfer. said no because despite the overload, I am having the best job on earth. So good I don’t even consider it just a job. Sure the pay is a joke, but so far I am still gleefully hanging on. Wait, is that the beer talking?


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