Nevergirl’s

So, I have been thinking, and rethinking, and rethinking some more—but no matter how many times I mull it over, I come to the same conclusion: it doesn’t matter how witty, amusing, or exceptionally gifted you are; if you are unkind, I’d rather talk to igneous rocks than you. Many things are negotiable; niceness is not—at least not for me. Even if you are nice to me but unkind to waiters, to the help, to the cabbie, to that hardworking assistant who pretends not to notice how cantankerous you’ve become, you are not a good person, and the less time I spend with you, the better.

The good thing about niceness is that it always outs. The fake tarnish eventually; and no matter how good you are at pretending to be nice, if you really aren’t, everyone’s bound to find out at some point.

This reminds me of a conversation between Natalie and Alex in the movie Up in the Air. The two women were discussing Natalie’s life plans, and how far by the wayside hers have fallen. To Natalie, it all boiled down to finding the right guy. No amount of success matters unless she finds the one who fits the bill: 6’1, college grad, brown hair, kind eyes, works in finance and is outdoorsy, drives a 4-runner, loves dogs, and has a nice-sounding, single-syllable name like Dave or John or Matt.

Then Alex tells Natalie what she wants in a man: “You know, honestly by the time you’re 34, all the physical requirements just go out the window. You secretly pray that he’ll be taller than you, not an asshole would be nice just someone who enjoys my company, comes from a good family. You don’t think about that when you’re younger. Someone who wants kids, likes kids. Healthy enough to play with his kids. Please let him earn more money than I do, you might not understand that now but believe me, you will one day otherwise that’s a recipe for disaster. And hopefully, some hair on his head. I mean, that’s not even a deal breaker these days. A nice smile. Yea, a nice smile just might do it.”

Yep, a nice smile, better earning power, and above all, kindness would do it. This is why I tell my sisters to always, always prolong the courtship. It’s crucial; how else would you know you won’t end up with a tool (who’s about as charming as medical equipment) for a boyfriend? Kurt Vonnegut said it best: “There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.” The moral lesson here, kids, is this: Never go out with anyone unkind, especially if you’re considering devoting your entire Gregorian calendar to this person.

“Well Penny, like anything worth writing, it came inexplicably, and without warning.”

Yep, it came inexplicably and without warning, like hunger. Like attraction. Like this ridiculous hankering for dlp lcd projectors—ridiculous because what need do I have for one? The truth is that I am a bear. I say this with a lot of sadness. It shames me to lose this contest of wills with equipment. I open the refrigerator door and sniff through leftovers. The crime almost always happens at midnight when I’m hungriest. Yes, I have heard of the 6pm rule, but no, there is no way on earth I can get my intestines to follow it. I eat dinner twice. Feel free to shake your head in collective consternation; it’s okay to judge; I would’av if this were you (I’m joshing, of course!).

I just plowed through two mugs of hot Milo, a bowl of fruit salad, and three egg sandwiches. If I had steel buildings in front of me and they looked just the least bit edible, I’d probably plow through them as well.

Let’s not even get me started on pain and attraction. If I can’t win against food, what hopes have I of winning against anything else?

Gundemmit.

So I’ve been reading up on detox treatment, and I’m amazed at how specialists make it sound like a vacation. This, for instance: “You will awake from your rapid detox for opiate addiction to find a nurse by your side willing to take you by the hand and help you every step of the way.”

Then there’s this: “We provide one-on-one nursing care by superb staff for 36 to 48 hours. No other clinic offers such friendly, caring, and intensive service.”

Given this pitch for detox centers, I’m surprised the number of people who abuse opiate and then sign themselves into these centers isn’t higher than it currently is. Sounds like an escape plan, these centers. Is your life falling apart? OD your way out of it so you can start anew at a center! Did you make your mess out of your last relationship? Snort your way out of it—friendly, caring staff will get you sorted eventually.

I don’t like users, and I believe it’d be best for one and sundry if they’re locked up, too. And, if it bothers you that I don’t like users and that I don’t have qualms stating this in my blog, stop reading this. Better yet, do not visit this blog. I do not like users, and I have very little patience for them. Don’t give me the classic “You don’t know what it’s like. This helps me forget” line. I grew up around substance abuse; I’ve heard practically every excuse in the book. I was 9 when I first heard that line used. I’m 28 now, and I still hear that line used.

I don’t like how these centers are turning out to be posh crash places for people who can’t deal. I’m tired of people who justify irresponsible behavior. Heartbroken? Nothing wrong with it. What good is a heart that can’t break for the people it loves? But excusing substance abuse because one’s recently had a heartbreak? Puhleaze! If you can’t deal with heartbreak, then don’t fall in love. Don’t go out with anyone you might fall in love with. Better yet, do not put yourself in a situation that might potentially hurt you enough to make you use drugs. Drug users are big fat escapists, and the only time it’s okay to be one is if there is no one on this planet who gives you a flying hoot what you do with your life. I’m sure if God, Bhagwaan, Yahweh, Waheguru, Allah, evolution, or Elton John meant for substance abuse to be an acceptable way of coping, we’d all be born with the usual set of body parts plus a pot of pot on hand.

I love Tagbilaran. I love how small it is; how you can go from point A to B on a tricycle that acts like a cab. For PhP6, your tricycle will take you to your destination; deposit you there, to be more precise, just like a cab does. I love the people, too. They’re always polite and they never seem to run out of reasons to be happy.

I HATE one thing about this place, though: the Internet connection.

Why, oh why, must the connection crawl just when I need it to go the fastest? Grrr.