yOu gOt me On tHat oNe

moments ago, i was thumbing through a man magazine -- no, not a girlie mag. it was esquire. yes. that's it. esquire. it's the issue that has britney spears on the cover. she's wearing a cashmere sweater and nothing more. oh, by the way, did i mention that her hiney is shiny and bare?

okay, now that i have, i am happy.

well that was just a way to pass the time. a sort of distraction. same with the tons of glamour magazines and reader's digests and national geographics. and drool-fest sessions on the mountains of throw pillows on my lola's bed, while listening to maria mena. oh, oh, oh.

and all this to escape this enormous pothole in the middle of my story. it staaaanks, i tell you. it's there. i mean, i can taste it na eh. im in the middle of the blasted thing and my juice factory suddenly goes haywire. waaaah.

*sigh*

drinking dalandan soda, diet version. whereas the "real" one tastes sinfully remarkably like dalandan, the version im drinking now taste like the rind of the stupid fruit. really.

and this info, ladies and gents, comes from the part of my brain that confirmed the claim that sprite ice tastes like toothpaste.

good night. or good morning. whatever. i won't be sleeping for another four hours. shit.