16.11.03; Silly Sunday; 19:24
No. of attempts to milk my blind date dry: 2. No. of successful attempts to milk my blind date dry: 0. Total no. of styrofoamfuls of sisig consumed this week: 2. Total no. of platefuls of sisig consumed this week: 3. Factors I should have considered before dashing to South Mall with barely an hour after arriving home from a drinking spree to get concert tickets: 1. The best-of-5 toss coin result. 2. The lack of repose this week. 3. The mathematical equation that spelled scarcity for the next weeks. Items bagged home instead of that desired PhP2500-worth Mariah Carey concert ticket: 1. Original VCD copies of “25th Hour” and “The Interview With A Vampire”. 2. Back issues of Vogue and Rolling Stones and the The Real World Diaries. 3. This month’s issue of Cosmopolitan-Philippines. 4. Aunt Annie’s Glazing Raisins which my palate has been salivating for last week. 5. A dozen of Pruta donuts for my anaconda-endowed kins. Interpretation: Glossy literature is my favourite art form. This month’s vaginal event: Kay’s arrival. Impact: Signal # 2 ½. No. of innocent strangers suspected as lowlife hold uppers: 1. No. of could-be hypnotic strangers unwittingly entertained: 1.
It has long been expected that people get to mispronounce my name during the first day of class or meeting. Just imagine my horror when I saw my name saved in someone’s inbox all right, but spelled as FLORNA DHAL. Take note, he addresses me Lorns on his text messages. Where did that name come from?
And oh, have I told you he sent me the plate number of the cab he’s riding on? Excuse my ill manners.
Three is like a poison that kills a person, they say. If so, I pray I get my prospect third job. Earth is a better place without me.
Emotional blackmail is not my favourite game. I can’t afford to hate the person piercing me. And I hate myself for falling victim to such. Why would people resort to that?
YAWN. Before I exhibit my dyslexia tendencies, I gotta go.