Warning: Douchebag

A Douchebag, for those not in the know, is defined by Dictionary.com as “a contemptible or despicable person”.

If you would Google the term, most of the images that would come up are musclebound guys in several poses. I have seen pictures of them online, and I was thinking it was just an exaggeration. Here is one sample:

Now, I was not sure why such a stereotype exists, until I personally had a few unfortunate experience. Just recently,a friend sent me a screenshot from his/her facebook (I don’t want to give away his/her identity), with a prime example of douchebaggery (the act of being a douchebag).

The Facebook Screenshot

Here is the loose translation, since it is in our vernacular (Filipino):

Comment 1: “The result of a growing business” — or something to that effect…

Comment 2: ” Thanks!” — from the account owner

Comment 3: ” Use it on Friday!”

Comment 4: “Yeah! We should have a shoe rehearsal!” — from the account owner

Comment 5: “You keep on working out but you don’t look at the fat content of the food you eat, plus you consume a lot of carbs. Goodluck with that!”  

Now, obviously Comment # 5 is from the douchebag. I don’t think he has ever heard of “constructive criticism“. This is one of the reasons why I don’t really use facebook (or other similar websites) a lot. Social Networks magically turn people into “Higher Beings” equipped with the right to bash people over the web and act like complete tools. 

My mother used to always tell me to shut up if I don’t have anything to say nice to a person. But she also told me to always deliver a bad news, if needed, in a diplomatic way, using credibility and skilled discourse. LMAO is surely not a smart choice.   

 

No offense meant to bodybuilders, but douchebags are portrayed as muscle-headed morons maybe because of experiences like this. I had a lot too. When I was new in the gym circuit, there was one competitive bodybuilder who walked in the gym. And he did nothing but mock everyone. I committed the mistake of asking him about the proper form, supplements, etc. All I got was mockery. I learned my lesson that day. Pumping iron may pump air into my head too, so I am being careful. 

 

His last comment, stfub, stands for shut the f*** up, b****h. It just confirms his douchebag level. Any intellectual discourse would be lost with this guy for sure. I told my friend not to comment anymore, to avoid a flame war.  Ah, the wonders of facebook.  

** I did not black-out his name, since he is a douchebag.

Story Telling

I recently had the opportunity to talk to groups of students about financial management. Funny but I found myself talking about my life again, specifically about my childhood and my experience in school. One of them asked me to write about it so they can share it with their friends, since they found it “interesting”. Now I am not entirely sure if they have used the term “interesting” as a positive thing, but I’ll take it as it is. I have been putting this off for a while, but now I think I would be following this through. I would try and create a new page following that theme.

Hopefully this would be a project that I would be able to complete, not just start.

A few more inspiring reads related to the project:

  • ABNKKBSNPLAko?! by Bob Ong (a Local Author)
  • The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls
  • Queen of The Oddballs by Hilary Carlip

I created a page for that project, but all you would see is the tentative titles. Hopefully the page would be up soon.

I also hope I don’t get a review like what Atlas got in her post: please click here to view the whole post

Sports Fest 2012 Day 3

4 stitches, and a loss. That’s how the day ended.

I’m still at a loss, thinking that I could have done more had I not had the injury.

I got a laceration on the forehead because of a wayward elbow of an opposing player on a basketball game. Damn teammates did not show up on time, and the teammates that did forgot to bring their pride with them. We were down fifteen to naught, until I decided that the embarrassment was enough.

A few blocks and a couple of steals later, I still couldn’t get a shot off. We’re still down by 18 points. I looked at the bench to check if my teammates were there.

They weren’t.

We were playing against the top team in the company, and I was not expecting them to be late, as this was a very important game. Being winless, I was hoping that we could beat the top team and finally have a win and move up the standings. If we beat this team, then it’s going to give us a boost in our confidence. All of our losses are within 5 points, but I still wanted to have at least a win.

My teammates didn’t think the same.

I had to do things myself. I was able to get the ball after the timeout, ran to the other side of the court, felt like I got fouled, but I was still able to score the lay up. I ran back on defense screaming at the referee. I admit it’s not sportsmanlike, but being down almost 20 points with no help could mess up your temperament.

Next possession, I took another shot. Missed. I had to steal the ball away from their center, and took another shot.  This time the referee whistled a foul. I was going to the free throw line.

I did not feel any foul that time, so I looked at the referee, wondering who fouled me. This time, I did not complain, as I felt like he was making up for his missed call earlier. Or he felt sorry for the littlest guy on the court, trying so desperately to score.

I’ll take it either way.

I shot the first free throw, and it went swishing in. 20-3.

I looked at the bench, and it was still empty. Now, I had not played competitively in years, and this was my first start in the Sportsfest. I was running on adrenalin. And it was going down as I was taking a breather at the free throw line.

I missed the next one. I was so preoccupied with thoughts that I was not able to concentrate.

Next possession was where it happened. I blocked their center and ran after the ball. They were able to get it back. Next thing I know, I was jumping up again, as high as I could, to maybe get another block or at least alter their shot. As soon as I came down, I felt an elbow connecting to my forehead.

I did not mind it at first. I was still going up for another block, but my legs did not move. I felt a sharp pain in my forehead, the same spot where the wayward elbow landed. I went down without knowing it.

Next thing I know, I was looking at the gymnasium roof. Teammates around, opponents standing beside me.

Blood all over me.

That was one hell of an elbow.

I couldn’t remember the other details before I went to the hospital to get stitched up, but someone told me that I wanted to go back to the court so bad, that I kept asking about the score. Next thing I remember was I was on a van, on the way to the hospital.

A few minutes later, the doctor was all over my wound, cleaning it, preparing it to be closed.

She then asked me one surprising question: “Do you want to take a picture of it for your Facebook?”

I was like, “Seriously? God damn, doctor. Just stitch it up and let me go back to the court!”

Needless to say, I was agitated the whole operation, which lasted less than 30 minutes. I did not even ask for anesthesia.

I was not allowed to go back either.

We lost too, by 8 points.

Now, all I have are 4 stitches, and a question of another retirement. Maybe this is a sign.

Why I Don’t Celebrate My Birthday

First off, in our family, no one is big on celebrations. We don’t really celebrate anything that is traditionally being celebrated. With that being said, last week was my birthday, April 27th. And with the opening sentence, you should already know that I treated the day as “business as usual” day.

This year was a bit different. One, because I got cake from my boss, and a birthday greeting compilation from my girlfriend. We also watched The Avengers before calling it a day. I would not consider it celebrating, but it is already different (in the best way) than the usual birthdays I had.

I grew up not following traditions, like the aforementioned celebrations. We did not have the financial means before, so I got used to it. Last birthday “party” I had was when I was 5. Then life caught up.

Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t sit around the house during Christmas or New Year hoping to get something better, or feel sorry for myself. I just got used to it. I have always thought about the financial repercussion of celebrations. I don’t want to spend too much on one day, just to follow traditions. I celebrate in thoughts, but not in the usual way.

It is interesting to see the reactions of my co-workers when I told them that I don’t really celebrate my birthday. They actually gave me a cake. Funny thing is, I really did not know how to act when I got it. I was not surprised, as we already have the habit of buying cakes for our teammates on their birthday, that it becomes expected. So I said “Thanks!” and proceeded to put it back in the box.

They had to point out that it was for everyone to eat. Now I was not really sure of this, but I thought that since they gave it to me, then I have the liberty of taking it home. I have a twin brother, so I was thinking of sharing the cake with him. I did not notice the cake was already sliced equal to the number of teammates I have, including my boss.

I was really clueless, in every sense of the word.

One of them asked me if I did not really celebrate my birthday. Their reaction was a bit funny and a bit impish. I felt like it was a crime with the way they reacted.

I also hate the fact that most people would only remember you if it’s your birthday. They would ask for a “birthday treat”, or expect to be invited to a “party” even though the only existing communication we have is once a year, through text.

And don’t get me started with Facebook. I removed my birthdate from my profile because I would be bombarded with messages wishing me a happy birthday, from people that I barely know, or have just met a couple of times, both of which I just did not have the gall to decline their friend request. Plus, they would be expecting for me to give each of them a response.

It goes the same to people that I know for years. The only time they remember your birthday is when they see it on facebook. Try removing your birthdate from (all of) your profile and see who remembers: those are the only people who care enough to do so.

Many people also have the habit of judging what you have accomplished with your age, and normally this conversation would be initiated during a birthday party.. I should be proud of this, but I know that some people would resent that fact, so I keep mum about it too.

Let me give another reason, although I know I would get a lot of hate with this: I have grown accustomed to thinking that birthdays are just a way of telling you that you are one step closer to oblivion. With each candle burned, we may need to think; “Did I ever grow up?”, “Am I going to be a better person now that I am a year older?”. Birthdays just remind us of life’s requirement to grow, but it turns out to be the show-and-tell of how little we did.

I have to admit though, that when I was younger, I used to envy the kids who would throw parties in school or invite me and my brother to a restaurant/fastfood for their celebration. I have always wanted to have one too, until I grew up a few more birthdays later. I also started to find it weird to celebrate something that you have always tried to hide or lied about.
I do celebrate my mom and dad’s birthday though. It is one way of me thanking them of the fact that without them, my birthday, and ultimately me, would not exist.