Christmas Blues

My mom is badly bruised all over her body due to an incident which yours truly caused her. She has all kinds of black-and-blues around her arms and knees to date. Blame it on the luggage and me and the slippery floor I suppose. The night of the 23rd, rubbing my palms together, I began packing my things for an out-of-the-country trip and neglectfully left the luggage lying on the middle of the floor at my parent's room. My mom, upon waking up the next morning, completely oblivious of what large object was innocently sleeping on her supposedly path to the door, tripped all over the luggage and dived herself to the floor.

As I woke up that morning, without even been given the chance to stretch nor find out what time is it, there already awaiting me as I flap open my eyes was a winding session of whimpering and yelling and picking from the darling mother nagging me of how irresponsible, careless, immature, inconsiderate, childish girl I am. Well, what can I say? I really am and there's no denying it. The only good deed I can do at the least is to leave my mom freely point fingers at my nose whenever she feels like it.

Oh, what a hissing day to spend Christmas? Glad my mom is fine even with those bruises on.

An Open Letter to Sandwich Maker

Dear Sandwich-Maker,

I can clearly see that you are not in any way in a hurry preparing up my sandwich and I hate you for that. You don't have a sense of urgency. Obviously I am not just a boulder standing in front of you waiting for nothing. I am waiting for my sandwich to be done. Now! This very moment! This very second! Because I am starving. And because I am starving I chose sandwich instead of a grilled fish or a roasted chicken. I didn't know a sandwich will take as long to prepare as that of a grilled fish because it is you who's preparing it.

What do I get from that eyeglass-wearing you? I see you walking around the counter like a beauty queen awaiting to be crowned. I see you toasting the bread till it's black and burnt and you just staring at it, not even thinking about the other sandwiches queued in. I see you foraging for the thinnest and flattest lettuce leaves. I see you fumbling on tomato slices. I see you wanting a round tomato slice and putting back crookedly-sliced tomatoes. Thing is, my darling, you are not a beauty queen. You are not suppose to excavate the lettuce leaves nor the tomato slices because you're going to use them all up anyway, sooner or later. And I don't care if my lettuce leaves aren't flat or my tomato slice isn't round and complete. I just want to eat.

I wanted to yell at you, seriously. But I fear you might spit at my sandwich and make the preparation time longer that you would normally do. Thus, I inhaled a deep breath instead and blogged about you.

With hate,
Harriene

I am Nice, but not so Nice

I am guilty. I am getting way too much google hits for my title. Because as you can see, Object Oriented Analysis is a programming term. Imagine the disappointment programmers get when they click my blog looking forward to read something technical only to come across whiny writings from me. I decided today is a day to be nice and uplifting. If you are a lost programmer looking for some ooad articles, the blog owner is very pleasured to direct you to another site. Click here.

Ranting Time:
It seems that my long time plan of wanting to detach myself from society's Christmas norm is next to impossible. I don't want to give gifts just because it is the normal thing to do. I don't want to give gifts to people I don't personally know. Yet now that my desk is filled with Christmas gifts from people all over the office strangers and acquaintance alike, I figured I couldn't stomache being just the taker. I couldn't act like I did not get anything from them.

Fine, give gifts I shall, even to unknown people, even if the effort is not out of my own will but only to return the thought. Everyone who gave me a gift shall receive one from me. That's the least thing I can guarantee. I cannot guarantee the sincerity though. I am not a Christmas loving person, sorry.

The Notebook Bashing

I have that cheesy book called the Notebook (Sorry for Sparks fans). I don't know why I bought that in the first place. I regret it to the infinity and will willingly give the book out if anyone wants it. I guess it was during the height of Nicholas Sparks novels years back that I decided to join the trend and try it out and I got terribly disappointed. First because I am never a romance novel reader. I just tried it out of curiosity because everyone seemed to be so in love with him. I didn't like it. That book is unbelievable, unrealistic, absurd. I don't agree love is as simple as giving up your fiance for no reason and going back to your childhood sweetheart. On second thought, I never liked any romance novels from the start. Never did.

Anyway, the other day a friend of mine told me he watched the movie and cried. He, a guy cried watching that movie. And I replied it was not my type of movie and I thought the movie was rather corny and overreacting and I said maybe I am just bitter hence the negative response. He agreed that I was bitter nevertheless. Am I the only one who hate The Notebook and Do I really sound bitter?

12 Wiggling Years Ago

I recently confessed to some of the people I know in the real world that I'm too lazy to wiggle my butt off this Christmas season moreso start Christmas shopping. Then it dawned on me with what I just said, I probably have set myself up to quite a disgusting picture of me with my wiggling butt, which reminds me of an instance way back 1992.

It was class time. My teacher arranged a Christmas song/dance activity for the entire class where we are divided into three groups and were taught to sing/dance the song twelve days of Christmas. Turned out after our group's turn that my teacher was extremely pleased with my performance(me specifically) and she went on telling the whole class, "Very good! I especially like Harriene's dance." while clapping her hands. "You guys should dance like Harriene. Darling, can you please demonstrate to us one more time particularly the line six geese a laying?" Head high chest out, like a proud child having just gotten the recognition of being the best in class, dance and sing I did. How proud I was.

As it is, the line six geese a laying incidentally is where we are supposed to wiggle our butt mimicking a goose laying eggs. My teacher.. she just fooled me into believing I was a good dancer while in fact she just found my huge wiggling butt amusing. Darn and I fell for her trap.