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Here we are again. I’m about to write something silly and you’re going to read it. Remember Scorched Earth? I’m sure you don’t. Well, you’d probably be familiar with that post and what it’s all about after reading this one because I’m pulling another Scorched Earth.

See, the past few days, I felt like a pail of ice cold water was thrown AT MY FACE. Certain words were said. Certain possibilities were opened. I was suddenly asking myself what the hell am I doing? What the fuck am I going to do next? Am I really willing to do the things I’m not used to doing? It’s like I was lounging around, watching Pinoy Big Brother, minding my own business, when suddenly, God tore off the roof of our house and asked me in his godly voice, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING WITH YOUR LIFE, BOY?!”

In a matter of days, I found the will to organize my shit and figure out how to fix broken things in my life. I started to figure out how to move forward into directions I never even knew existed. The last few days were my Road to Damascus. A string of moments of clarity didn’t let me sleep right. It was a renaissance of the soul! And then, a road block… OF CHAOS! Baddie was is brokenated. All because of a small taste of a divine cookie.

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To end Mean Girls Week, I think it’s appropriate if I share a mean girl story. A story plucked from my own retarded high school past. It’s not a story about skanky bitches calling everybody “sluts” and “whores”. It’s about high school drama, angst, and awkward silences. It’s about me being in jail with a girl named Vanessa.

I went to a Catholic school in Sta. Rosa, Laguna. Canossa School to be exact. A place were dreams are born and hearts are broken. A breeding ground for leaders, jocks, losers, artists, mean girls, and background dancers for noontime TV shows.

Well hello there, Sexbomb Izzy. How YOU doin’?

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Ahh, yes. April Fools’ Day. A day of hoaxes and practical jokes unleashed upon the weak-minded and the gullible. A time for merriment and dickeries. But can we learn anything from all this mischief? I believe we can because I did.

Before I share the lessons I’ve learned on April Fools’ Day, let me tell you about the pranks I pulled for this most glorious of days:

Prologue: BADDIE JOKES PRACTICALLY!

Pre-2003, I was constantly playing practical jokes on my friends and family. From farting in front of my sister’s face, to tripping a friend who was running really, really, really fast, I’ve done it all. But nothing a few words of apology can’t fix. Then I sort of grew up. Sure, there’s the occasional Dumping a Pail of Water on Someone Just for Kicks gag, but I got over my Extremely Annoying Prankster phase early in college. But I just couldn’t resist. I decided to take it up a notch. I was ready for some mind games!

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I know it doesn’t look like it (or does it? whatever.), but I’m a very sentimental person. I put a lot of sentimental value on stuff. As soon as I pay for a ballpen, BAM! There’s a connection between me and the pen. If I lose it 2 hours later, I’ll be depressed like hell. So just imagine me losing something I’ve had for 4 years. Just imagine it being a reminder of my breakup with my girlfriend for 2 years. Just imagine it being a souvenir from a time and place of healing (Cable Car Alabang Town Center, a couple of days from the breakup). Just imagine me not just losing it, it was accidentally smashed into thousands of pieces by an idiot! My heart got smashed too when I got home, only to discover that one very precious artifact from my college days was gone. This is why I hate people touching my stuff. I’ll miss you, Mr. Ashtray. =(

I didn’t even get the chance to take a decent picture of it. =(

With all the good times I’m having on the Internet these days, I’ve forgotten how important TV is in my life. I mean, I grew up in the warm glow of several TV sets. They nurtured me into the fine young man I am today. OK, I’m shitting you. My IQ took a beating while I was a slave to TV’s enchanting moving pictures with sound. Switching my attention to the Internet isn’t helping. But I digress. My point is, during the long weekend, I reconnected with Mr. TV and I found a therapeutic voice amidst all the whining in reality TV shows, the lame lines in crappy movies, and the moaning of animals during sexy time on National Geographic. I’ve discovered Nigella.

Mmm… muffins.

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