Author Archives: The Bitch Goddess

Something Light And Trivial

I tagged myself. It’s contagious. You read another person’s blog, and you feel like doing the same thing too. Happens all the time. Anyway, i can’t help it. So indulge me. 🙂

ABOUT YOURSELF
Eye color: Dark brown
Hair color: Dark Black
Piercing: Two (ears and tongue)
Tattoos: None
Boyfriend/Girlfriend: None. There’s gotta be somebody out there, right?
Overused phrase: Right. (sarcastic tone)

FAVORITES
Food: Italian. Pesto pasta, pizza. Pepper steak. Lays’ (sour cream and onion). Teehee.
Candy: Ritter (white), Truffles
Number: 1
Color: Red. Duh, isn’t it obvious?
Animal: Cats. White ones.
Drink: Diet coke
Alcoholic drink: Vodka
Letter: A
Body part of opposite sex: Loins. Sexxxy.

THIS OR THAT
Pepsi or Coke: Diet Coke
McDonalds or Jollibee: Jollibee hands down.
Strawberry or watermelon: Strawberry
Hot tea or iced tea: Hot peppermint tea
Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate when I need to perk myself up, Vanilla as a base for my experiments.
Hot chocolate or coffee: Hot chocolate
Kiss or hug: Kiss
Dog or cat: CATS hands down
Rap or punk: Punk
Summer or rainy season: Rainy season. I just wanna curl up in bed and feel lazy.
Scary movies or funny movies: Funny. You CANT make me watch scary movies. I’d be covering my eyes the entire time.

YOUR?
Bedtime: 4 am
Most missed memory: Getting stoned and laughing so hard with my three roommates in UPLB.
Best physical feature: Eyes and mouth
First thought after waking up: “Did I win that bag on eBay???”
Goal for this year: Be emotionally stable.
Weakness: My nephew, Matthew, bags, Truffles
Fears: Drowning (cos I don’t know how to swim )

HAVE YOU…
Ever drank: Duh, yeah.
Ever smoked: Occasionally. Trying to quit now.
Ever been drunk: Uh, yeah.
Ever been kissed: ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?!
Ever been in love: Barely, but yes. I am, indeed, capable of loving.

IN A GUY
Favorite eye color: Blue. Sigh. Wish ko lang. Haha. Anything. Doesn’t matter.
Favorite hair color: Brownish-tawnish
Short or long hair: Bald, long, or cut right.
Height: Above 5’7″
Style: Extremes. I like em rockin’ and I like em clean and smart. No slobs, please.
Looks or personality: Personality, hands down.
Hot or cute: Hotttt. You gotta make me wetttt
Drugs and alcohol: Uhm… hehehe. Don’t make me answer this one.
Muscular or skinny: I hate skinny guys, and I get really uncomfortable with muscular ones. Especially when they start flexing. Oh dear.

RANDOMS:
Number of regrets in the past: 3 (1, my first sexual encounter. wrong choice. 2, academic pursuits. 3, some guy I shouldn’t have hooked up with)
What country do you want to visit: Italy! Santorini, Greece!
How do you want to die: Intoxicated, knocked out, or in a coma.
Do you like thunderstorms: No
Health freak: Yes. I’m being careful now. Somebody taught me to take Vitamin C and lots of water everyday. I miss that someone.
Do you think you’re attractive: Hahhahahahahahaha. Do I really have to answer that? Hahahahahhaha.
Believe in yourself: Hahahahahhahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. And I’ve been getting sooo much flak for doing so!
Do you smoke: Yes, occasionally. Hasn’t this been asked already?
Do you drink: Yes, occasionally. This one, too!
Shower daily: Twice.
Been in love: Yesss.
Do you sing: Yes. And I think I sing good, especially if I got a goooood mic 🙂
Do you dance: Yes!
Want to get married: Yes, but not possible. Refer to my previous entry.
Want to have kids: Yes, but I can’t. Again, refer to my previous entry.
Age to lose virginity: Huh? Age I LOST it, you mean? Hang on, is this whole trivia thing from a teeny bopper slumbook?! Well, so, yeah, a couple of weeks before I turned 18.
Do you hate anyone: Uhm, no…I actually don’t. Wow.

Truth is…

I apologize for neglecting this blog; even in my frenzied state, there were moments when I could have written, but I kept putting it off. Now that one account is finished, I found myself to be idle. And in that idleness, I panicked. I’ve been so used to burying myself in work, obvious to others that this is my way of moving on, that I don’t know how it is to be idle. I was suddenly not doing anything. There was a moment of silence…and then the demons in my head started to talk.

I’m fine, really. I just hate being idle. I want to work. Before doing so, I need to address something.

One reader comments:

You wanna know the reason why you always end up with the wrong men and you seem to always land on those shittiest guys girl?

It’s because you’re spoiled, you have too much air in yourself, and you overvalue your own worth.

To you you may think that you’re beautiful, seductive, witty, and all those things, but to the normal guy who has simple dreams of family and children, you are a disease to be ignored and if need be avoided.

To most loser-males’ eyes, you are nothing but a sex object. You have portrayed yourself as such and such will you be taken. A mere sex object, a toy, to be discarded once the initial thrill has passed.

You think you are mature, but to be honest with you, you have the mind of a 14 year old brat who seems to be just coming of age. If you truly had any semblance of maturity, then you will try to patch the pieces of your life and take a detour to what’s right and just.

You want to be respected and loved. Treat yourself as such. You want a man with honor and decency, who will uphold your dignity as a woman, wife and mother. Then start with yourself by removing those bitch lifestyle that you have. You want children who will cherish you and grandchildren who will cuddle next to you and lovingly call you Lola. Then start by doing what is good and just.

I do hope in your heart you still have the wisdom to see what is right.

Normally, I ignore comments on this blog. I get flak all the fuckin time, I’m so used to it. I would like to believe that the one who wrote this is bitter, terribly bitter. For some reason, his writing style is so familiar and similar to the emails I received in my inbox from this guy I turned down for being so, erm, “assuming” and “feeling close”. I could be wrong. It doesn’t matter.

Now, you bitter man, actually caught my attention. Woohoo. However, I cringe at the word “disease”. Surely, I can’t be THAT bad? I’m quite positive that there are a few who agree with this guy and I don’t mind, really. If there’s one flaw I have, it’s being too understanding and accepting. Okay, so that’s two. Seriously, because I understand where this guy is coming from, I won’t give him crap for it. But I need to say something in my own defense, and perhaps of other women as well who copiously enjoy this lifestyle.

The truth, bitter man, is that I dream of children and of a quiet life in the hills of Tuscany, where I can grow my own to-mah-toes and basil. I dream of a quiet wedding by the prairie, and no matter how hippie it can get, I want to be barefoot in my own wedding. Truth is, I dream of being a soccer mom, of shuffling my kids from school to ballet class, music class, soccer, whatever. I dream of being a good wife, greeting my husband with a blowjob as soon as he arrives home.

BUT, I have long accepted that I cannot conceive, that marriage is not for me as men are dogs and they will need variety at certain points in their lives. I am meant to be alone. I will, however, have lovers. I need love to live, no matter how make-believe it is. I will never belong to anyone.

I am an old soul, I belong to the old world. You’d be actually surprised if you talk to me. Most who found themselves talking to me could attest to this. I am actually nice. I am not an immature 14-year-old sex object as you think I am, in fact, you would actually wish YOU were single and YOU don’t have a 14-year-old daughter. There’s something about this blog that projects me as how you would like to perceive me. I won’t even bother to correct that perception. That’s the fun part, proving you guys wrong.

So, bitter man, what does it mean to do what is “good and just”? Does it mean chasing after my dreams? But after the premises I gave you, it is quite obvious that it is simply impossible. Then this blog will have to close, and when that happens, that only means one thing: I AM indeed living my dream.

Surely you don’t want that to happen? You, bitter man, who find yourself reading this? But I am your only guilty pleasure. I won’t take that away from you. I told you, I’m nice.

Birthday Bitchin’ But Not Quite

Rockstar greeted me a day ahead of my birthday. He was up to something, I know, and sure enough, a couple of minutes later into texting me, he casually asked to be paid back. I knew it. Under the guise of greeting, he wanted money.

When he broke up with me last Valentine’s day, (I know, he just had to choose that particular day to tell me of his plans of “growing wings”), I was in a state of frenzy. Shopping frenzy, to be exact. As soon as he left, I immediately called the driver and asked to be brought to the mall. I was like a horse on a racetrack; I headed for the ATM machine, withdrew all our money (we had a joint account), and spent lavishly on bags, shoes, what-have-you’s. I wasn’t thinking at all, nor was there guilt or remorse at the fact that he carefully saved up the money that I was carelessly spending. I had one mantra playing over and over in my head.

To hell with you.

I was chanting this in my head when I spotted a denim LV speedy and I knew I just had to get it. Because I was running out of cash, his cash, whatever, I pulled out my extension of dad’s plastic. Needless to say, I got myself in trouble when he got the statement. With that bag, I could feed 120 poor families for a week, or even two. Sigh. Like I said, I wasn’t thinking. I was shopping myself silly.

I remember, when I found out that my dad cheated on my mom, I also pulled out his plastic and bought myself a nifty Tiffany necklace. I got away with that; he didn’t dare to bring it up, otherwise I would have lashed right back at him and I won’t even regret my words.

So, dahlings, if we got into a fight, keep your credit cards away from me, especially the gold or black ones. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to bawl like a baby when you get your statement. I’m dangerous that way. Tsk.

Back to the money-begging scenario with Rockstar. Of course, when he found out that the account was empty and deactivated, it was but natural for him to be angry at me. But I just retorted back, “Why, when you broke up with me, were you really thinking? Did you really think about me? Apparently not. So, shut up and I will pay you when I feel like paying you.” With that, he stopped bugging me. And he eventually went back to his old flame who got back from the US. It seemed to me that I was his “transitional” girlfriend the entire time the midget was away. And how convenient for them to hook up shortly after he broke up with me.

Oh my gawd. I’m turning 26 and I’m so bitter. Haha. Of course I’m over him. I can laugh at them now, at how mousy and clingy his new gf looks. Oh, surely he could do better! I am actually insulted that she’s no better than the typical Dalagang Bukid (Farm Maiden). They upload pictures at their Friendster account daily, and I could see how we were. All dewy and lovestruck, staring at each other’s eyes and vainly attempting to snap a photograph while at it. Oh puhlease.

Right. I’m still bitter. Haha. Oh gawd, why oh why can’t I just blow a birthday cake and rip the wrappers off my birthday presents?

The last time I did that was when I was 12. Oh, I forgot, yeah, when I turned 18 and had my debut. Yep, blowing candles. After that, I’ve been blowing anything but candles. Tsk.

At this point of my entry, I would have to acknowledge all those people who have become my friends for the past few months. You know who you are. Some are just on chatting terms, but nonetheless inspiring and worthwhile. Some of you whom I have turned down have willingly remained friends with me. I really appreciate that. These people have unwittingly helped me pull through, one way or another. And to you, who untiringly cheered me on through life, helping me forget and encouraged me to become who I want to be, THANK YOU. I no longer speak to some of them, but I know they still read my quirks. Thank you for being with me, and with that, I know I am not quite alone.

As I turn 26 tonight, I know I am loved and adored, and that is the most peaceful feeling I could possibly have. I feel quite wholesome, actually. That’s a first for The Bitch Goddess.

So, on to my birthday wishes.

1. Travel to Edinburgh
2. Good family relations
3. Blessings, blessings, blessings
4. More accounts
5. See my old and real friends

That’s about it, I guess. And oh, World Peace. 😀

Thank you for your greetings! You may still send ’em to thebiatchgoddess(at)gmail(dot)com.

Busted!

You, my dear readers, are soooo fuckin busted.

YOU JUST SKIM OVER MY ENTRIES!

Hmph.

Goes to show you (okay, some got it, but MOST OF YOU) didn’t really read. Gah.

I am sooo not pregnant. Pardon my disillusionment, but no, I can’t forgive you to be a voyeur of my life and not really knowing (or reading, for that matter) what I’m all about.

Hmph. *pout pout*

I’ve been receiving messages and emails and what not’s, congratulating me. Sigh. I can’t believe you guys…tsk tsk.

So I’ve been keeping myself busy lately. July has rolled around, and I don’t feel like turning 26 on the 25th *hint hint*. Seriously though, I keep insisting I am a kid, and I oftentimes act like one and whenever I am reminded of THE date, I just wish I could put a stop at it. Can I just be 17 forever?

Cos when I was 17, my dad gave me the most precious gift he could possibly give me: freedom. When I was 17, I got into my beloved sorority and really learned how to enjoy college. I had men wrapped around my finger, oh my god, it was such a high to be a woman-child at that precocious time. I promised myself that I wouldn’t be a virgin when I turned 18, so I got that one pretty much covered a few months before my birthday.

Bitch Goddess Junior is turning 17 soon, and just looking at her and her giggly, Paris Hilton-smelling posse just reminds me how I was way ahead than my peers when I was her age. Sure, we talked about boys during jammy parties, painted our toenails silly and tried to sneak out at night to watch Eraserheads. But I always knew I was wiser; I was an old soul.

I’m lamenting. Sigh. I know, I will get reactions like, “Hey, you’re still young! 26 is not so bad. It gets bad when you’re 40.” RIGHT. That is, if I get to live till 40. I highly doubt that. 🙂

Okay dahlings, this is just a light and silly one. Bitch Goddess not accepting she’s getting old.

Ta ta.

The Immaculate

Hail, hail, the immaculate bitch.

The unthinkable happened. I am pregnant.

I always thought my reproductive system was so fucked up due to abuse (tsk, tsk) that getting pregnant was way beyond me, if not highly impossible. But I found myself laying on the examination bed, with my OB-Gyn hovering above me, applying gel to my stomach before doing the ultrasound test.

“Do you want to know the sex?” she asks. Huh? I hardly heard her. I was shivering, my gelled-stomach fully exposed to the coolness of the room.

“Uhm, yes, I guess”, I mumbled.

The doctor started humming and did her thing with the machine. It was ticklish, whatever they called it. All of a sudden, I wished somebody was holding my hand.

“Ahhh, yes… Are you ready to know?”

“Oh, okay, whatever.”

She was smiling. “Oh, TBG, you would love this. It’s a girl.”

She proceeded to turn the machine off and asked the nurse to clean me up and help me change. I was still frozen in my state. A girl? A GIRL??!?!?!

Oh my gawd, that would be hard work. I was half-wishing it was a boy, but having a girl would mean raising a high-maintenance one. Like the mother/fucker isn’t enough. Oh dear, I’d have to teach her how to do make-up, how to seduce men without being trashy, how to tickle their minds, how to leave a lasting impression. How to give mind-blowing blowjobs…and sex. Oh drat, definitely hard work. Sigh. I was having all these thoughts when I was propped up and cleaned and dressed. Emerging from the dressing room, however, I felt light.

So, I’m going to be a mother now. My, my, my.

“I can’t believe you had to wait six months before you came to visit me. I would have monitored your progress and gave you proper instructions, TBG”, the doctor said.

“Actually, I didn’t know I was pregnant all this time. First, because it never occured to me that I would ever because I haven’t had sex for some time now after that angry, breakup sex, and second, because, well, after all those men I slept with, I never got pregnant after that time I screwed it up six years ago. You were there. You cleaned me up, and you told me I will never be able to do so.”

She sighed. “I know, at that time, you had so much scarring that it seemed impossible that you would conceive. But this is a pleasant surprise. Do your parents know already?”

Ditto. “No, not yet. But I’m sure they would insist that I marry Rockstar. You know dad, he would do everything to protect the family name.”

“Would you marry him?”

“Hahaha. How can I marry someone who has no idea why I’m supposed to marry him in the first place?”

“So you haven’t told him yet?”

“No, I haven’t. But I would like to keep this is a secret from him. That’s impossible though. Because dad would naturally demand that he marry me. The thing is, I don’t want to. We’d be married for all the wrong reasons, and I think he’s happy with the girl he is with now. I realize, I don’t need him anymore. Or any man for that matter. I have all the love I need, right here”, patting my stomach, the size of it making sense to me now.

“Oh dear, you need a support system now. The next few months would be crucial.”

I sighed. “I know, I know. Mom will always help me, I can count on her. Dad will be depressed at my decision of not marrying Rockstar, but he will come around, he will understand why. As for Rockstar, I’ll let him know when she’s born and see the reaction on his face, that of a fucked-up toilet. Ooooh, I can’t wait.”

She shook her head and said, “You haven’t changed. You’re pregnant and still you’re vindictive.”

“Nooo, noo, I’m not being vindictive. It will be a dilemma for him, but I won’t impose anything on him. He will offer though. He definitely will.”

“There you go! Marry him then!”

I shook my head this time. “No, no. It is over.”

After the consultation, I asked my driver to take me to the beach, a private one where I do most of my morning walks. I curled my feet and felt the powdery sand between my toes. It was still midday, and it wasn’t that hot. It was just perfect. All of a sudden, I had the habit of touching my belly every now and then as I started to walk the long shoreline.

She’s for real. Damn. I am fuckin’ pregnant. How could I have not known for six months?! No wonder my jeans wont fit. I thought it was because of all those chocolates I consumed when I got depressed. But hey, I feel good now. Surprisingly, I am happy. It all makes sense now. I have found my motivation.

The walk was long and I was tired, but I had inner peace. I know the answer to my “Why?”.

But I just had to wake up only to realize what it was all along. Nothing.

No wonder it all seemed surreal. I won’t bother finding out what this means, or why of all days to wake up to, Rockstar had to send me a message asking how I’m doing. I don’t care what this is all trying to tell me now. The thing is, I have that glow, that inner peace, and undeniably, elation. With or without her inside me. The only sad thing about this is that I am suddenly filled with deep yearning to make it real.

Like I said, I am the Immaculate Bitch. I’ll be damned when that happens.