Confessions Of A Rock N' Roll Idiot

Singin' In The John

This morning's breakfast of two cans of Libby's Sausage, four scrambled eggs, two Amazing Glaze donuts and two cups of rice proved too much for my already swollen tyre of a stomach as I rushed to the pay lounge of the Glorietta 4 complex. After finding a comfortable parking slot, I ran to the comfort room, eager to relieve myself of the serpents that were tormenting my intestines. Luckily enough, the lounge had no other occupants. I quickly pounced into a steady rhythm of exorcising the brown demons of undigested chili, chicken tenders and wasabi mayo dip I had last night, making space for my breakfast binge.

The silence of the lounge, however, was broken the male attendant, who started humming a dreamy rendition of The Stylistics' "Betcha by golly wow." His ethereal voice caught my ears, and all of a sudden, I began backing him up by snapping my fingers to the song. In a matter of seconds, lonely male attendant and frantic pooper were collaborating on the chorus. I was twisting and tapping my feet as the bowels of waste were slowly being expelled out of my behind. And even as people started coming in, our collaboration progressed into the 8th octave.

It was actually fun, singing while pooping. For some strange reason, music and the toilet bowl came together with a singular purpose: Making you feel good. No matter where I am, no matter what state I'm in, as long as I have music in my head and in my ears, I will be able to stave off bad vibrations.

For a brief moment, I had made a connection with a stranger in the oddest of places. We shared a passion for those powerful verses that exclaimed the joy of finally meeting someone that you love.


For the nth time (Please, let this be the one!)

Mane and Tail failed to deliver it's promise of stallion-thick hair growth, so yesterday I went for the jugular, buying the complete Kerastase' hair loss kit, setting me back by 5 grand. The kit consists of a rejuvenating shampoo intended to stimulate my scalp, and the other a 20-day Aminexil treatment formula meant to stimulate the growth of collagen in my hair follicles. If this doesn't work, the great hair doctor, Svenson will be my next step.

Along with this comes a repeat of my profound (yet currently futile) promise: I AM QUITTING SMOKING STARTING TOMORROW. Apparently, the nicotine I ingest prevents collagen-forming nutrients from reaching my scalp. I am getting quite tired of hearing of mimicking Michael Bolton's dashing hairdo so as much as I hate to say it, smoking will be gone for a while.

That's if i can get it to go. My vastly "experienced" brother has a great way to describe the pain of quitting - "PARANG SEX YAN, PAG NASIMULAN MO NA, HAHANAP-HANAPIN MO KAHIT SAAN, KAHIT KAILAN."
Shit. Mahirap to.