bEtTeR yOu tHan mE nOh

I am in an imagined crisis. Something about poverty and ripped notebooks and repeating clothing. Other things like homosexuals having a deep, almost innate feeling about me. Yes, yes, homos hate me. (Ohmy.) Is it because am too much girly-girl, with these hideous curls and lips that are forever jutting off into space? Or is it because, at certain light angles, I look distressingly like a boy? Note flat chest, please, and gigantic legs. And feet.

(No segues. Sorry.)

I told everyone (in a Lia-esque fashion -- so you know that it everyone had no choice at all but to hear me) that there was a superstorm named Inday coming our way Friday. Which is tomorrow. And since it's all sunny weather and birds on trees today, am now fervently praying for aforementioned superstorm to rip Quezon City off the face of the planet. Only then can I be redeemed.

(I realize I've written segway once or twice. So, to everyone who sniggered, eat this.)

Got grade for window thingie in CW class. I got feedback and it's nothing I haven't heard before from well-meaning and/or biatchy people. Wordy, wordy, wordy. And the Queen of Run-on Sentences. (I looove run-on sentences. Sure, I don't know what they are exactly, but I think I like them. Yes, yes, Sasha does.)

Ick. Ick. Got a C+. Patting my head, telling myself that Miss Lin was godsend, with all her ruthless purple and green comments about my organization. People who got Bs, please fall in line so I can give you a little childish shove, complete with sticking-out-tongue action. Fiends who got As, bend over so I can paddle you.

(Seghoowey.)

Reading Bridget Jones's Diary and having kick-ass time. (If you've noticed something diff with this post, it must be because I am in Bridget Jones mode.) I just love her. And then I hate the face that there *might* be a sequel(s) and how the fuck can I get my hands on that(them)? I already consider it one of God's widdle miracles that I got this book for 60 pesos. Man, my mother is talented.

I still wish am rich enough to waltz into Fully Booked and Powerbooks and get all the books I happen to like on sight. Man, oh man.

(Nuther segue.)

Creating line-up for non-existent future debut. One thing more depressing than knowing it'll never come true is the realization that you don't know enough boys (men) to dance 18 roses with. Gawd.

(One last segue.)

Had a bit of an enlightenment a coupla days ago: If you feel it still, then you didn't put it *in* properly.

Nothing like sex, contrary to what I first thought of it.

My _ _ _ _ _ _ hurts.