21.12.03, Sleepy Sunday, 18:53
No. of burger patties consumed last Tuesday alone: 7. Only videoke wherein the images agree with the song: No doubt’s Don’t Speak. No. of men who had to look at my left arm to clarify if their peepers were playing tricks on them: Countless. No. of men who were too distracted with my boobs to notice: Never noticed. No. of men who had to ask why the jargon pashgrupth imprinted on my arm: 1. No. of embarrassing moments involving Caribbean skirts and napkin-plastered knickers: 1. No. of Kodak moments with Nyoy Volante during the Sense and Style’s 1st anniversary party: 0. This month’s vaginal moment: Liza’s arrival. (I was wet for a different reason. Pathetic.) Impact: The weakest of them all. (Did I say I was wet? Scratch that.) No. of Friendster applicant/s who finally gave up on inviting me: 2. No. of Friendster applicants still teeming with optimism that s/he belongs to my elite circle: 1. No. of prospect Friendsters: 10, so far. (But only 1 of them is the prospect.) No. of target RoTK date: 1. (Zycron has gone back to Zamboanga. Huhuhuhuhu.)
I have long been suffering from the Blank Page Syndrome and my account’s Christmas party last night only heightened my Amelie Syndrome. When still smitten friends at last cease from pretending they have the strength to move on, this Amelie made the phone call. When the tough chick decides to kneel down finally, this Amelie sent errr…flooded encouragement through text messages. I’m such a hero Globe should start giving me four-digit discounts.
Aiding them solve their dilemmas makes me feel good. Not that addictingly good, though, to make me forget my own set of worries. In fact, I went home too sober to absorb all the mockery my dearest self echoed blatantly. I feel so undesirable, uninspired, unintelligent, unworthy, unhappy.
The only thing I did not absorb is the overrated holiday bug.
Okay, let’s try to pretend I love this time of the year. Here’s my wish list:
A hot French kiss from a hot date under the mistletoe.
My personal Muse who’d play the lire when I feel uninspired. Like today.
A third job.
An unexpected phone call come Christmas from a long lost friend.
Full body massage.
Truckloads of comestible treats and alcohol.
The betise to believe that contentment exists.
Tish had a heated altercation recently with her mom. The latter has always been lenient, no, the right word is willing to let her only daughter spend the entire weekend in her beau’s bedroom. She probably yells, so how come a couple of years and millions of semen later you can’t go back home with the news that you’re bearing my grandchild?! Her mom even said, “Ilang nanay sa mundong ito ang ganyan?”
I could bet there’s only one.
X’S: If you find the off-cam feud between GMA 7 and its network nemesis ABS-CBN 2 sneer-worthy, I beg you change your mind. The war between SBN 21 and NET 25 is more immature.