Tag Archives: Bitch Goddess’ Thoughts

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.

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.

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.

Blah

Putting off the idea of a Polishing School aside, I have become mediocre. Fearfully mediocre.

Somebody asked me what exactly am I all about. Do I blog on purpose? Do I blog to titillate, to tease your minds, to make you hard? Funny, I never really thought it would come out that way. If I’m not the Bitch Goddess, what or who am I then? Am I really a whore?

Perhaps I am. Perhaps not. The meaning is relative. It could mean anything, really. I’m just tired of answering all sorts of questions. Just…go…figure. Take the time to know me.

I’m sorry, this is going nowhere. I am simply uninspired these days.

On Nuns, Prostitutes, Escorts and Ultimately, Bitches

My silence for the past few days is attributed to the fact that I was (and still am, actually) in a sort of financial bind. Something which I’ve never experienced before and to talk about it further would be in such poor taste. All I could say is that it’s bloody unpleasant as hell. I haven’t exactly resolved it yet, but hey, life is hard right now, and I am definitely fucking it.

And so, I was thinking, what if, what if, I pimp myself? Ain’t that grand? I’d probably work a mere night or two, at such an exorbitant price, and my problem is solved! Haha. RIGHT.

I was whining about this possible solution to The Vamp when she told me, “Hey, get this. P (another sorority sister) decided to become a nun. She has the calling.”

WTF???

“Seriously????” I never thought someone close to me would become a *gulp* nun. But then, she’d be happier there, I think. It suits her well. She’s just the type.

“I just can’t believe it, though. I’m responsible for bringing it up. All this time, she was just waiting for a sign, and when I suggested it she took it as a sign,” The Vamp said, overwhelmed.

“Well, shouldn’t you be happy that you sort of helped her figure it out?” I asked.

“I know, I know. I just find it overwhelming, that’s all. What about us? Do you think we’ll ever become one?”

“Hahaha. You got to be kidding, right?”

“Why not? You’ll never know.”

“Well, this is a good thing for us. We have a spiritual adviser now. Oh, coz, you know, I think I’m beyond salvation. ”

“Hahaha. I still think you can be an adviser of a different sort. The “High Priestess of the Biatches” or something.”

Right. That could work. Goody. Now, back to my problem.

So I was thinking, I’d probably make a good prostitute. I used to loathe these women. With their cheap colognes and cheap makeup and cheap accent, they’re an easy target for my wrath. Their socio-economic background could be a factor, but it’s not that, actually. While some of them are exceptional–some men get lucky if they have intelligent ones, most are plainly mechanical and seriously DUMB. Men defined them to be as such. Men probably like them that way because they’re rid of senseless conversation and they could get right into action.

Okay, I’m definitely selling myself short.

How about as a high-class prostitute? Or an escort? Whatever. Buwayahman, I need your help on this. I can’t figure out the difference between the two. Are they still prostitutes but of a different league? Since I’m no movie star nor been in a porn film, I guess that doesn’t qualify me then, eh?

Bah. Labels. Who gives a fuck anyway?

Actually, I like the idea of a geisha with a Bitch Goddess twist. I’m not all about sex–that part is a given. That’s easy. And since I’m into S&M now, I’d probably charge extra. What makes me different though, is that I could carry a conversation. And a good one at that. I could match your wit and intellect and perhaps do an intellectual masturbation first (that’s what s&m is all about, anyway) and finish it off with mindblowing sex. And a cigarette.

Somebody told me that Filipinas will never make good escorts/prostitutes. When asked why, he said that they (prostitutes) are so gullible and are easily swayed by men who wait for them until their shift is over. That way, these men won’t have to pay for the required number of drinks while inside the club. For economical reasons that are beyond me, these Filipina prostitutes succumb to the cheap and sleazy and give the industry a bad name.

I, however, want to glorify it. I will teach these women to hold their ground, and learn to have dignity with their work. They will be sticklers for rules and manners. They will become learned in the arts, music and culture. They will be articulate. They will be mistresses of S&M. They will be definitely, a whole new breed (of bitches) apart.

And so, I am opening my…

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I am sooo going to burn in hell for this.

Enrollees, anyone?