Fabio is the dreamboat

You gotta love all the love.

I am obsessing once again. This time, it's that bleeping airplane ride. I've already planned to commission Martin to stop me from jumping out of said plane. But the aircraft's not my only worry, as I can always pretend I'm not 1,674,890 miles above ground, hovering above inevitable death, by singing show tunes, thinking about Hugh Jackman growling or any other boytoy locked up in my mind. Or I could always end my misery by flushing myself down the toilet.

The other worry of Sasha the Worrywart is the freaking airport. I instinctively know I'm going to hate it, the way I just plain knew as a kid that there's no way the adobo fat and I were going to be the best of friends.

I don't like waiting. Most of all, I don't like waiting in a gigantic room brimming with people.

So I shall read. Nothing deep-depressing, of course, not like the thing I'm reading now which is about, lo and behold! -- depression. Not those kind of books that'll have me wailing because of some bone-deep throbbing pain. No thinking books either, which means no Anthony Burgess that has been sitting on my desk, untouched, for a couple of weeks now. (Why'd I bought it nga pala?) And nothing flighty and surreal like Tom Robbins. Nothing too... Stephen King or Anne Rice. Alice Hoffman won't cut it either because she has beautiful prose. No Lakambini Sitoy's because she'd remind me of what'll happen for the next three weeks.

Isa lang ang solusyon.

I need me some trashy novels. The cardboard plot, over-the-top scenes, incredibly clever/dim-witted dialogue, TSTL (Too Stupid To Live) women and all the strapping lads in various stages of undress that'll all have my smart brain cells and girlie hormones (yey, feminism) go aflutter. Bodice-rippers, hidden in a Reader's Digest or something, from discerning snooty eyes of people with more common sense and literary intellect than I apparently have.

I shall survive blasted airport, after all. And maybe bits of the plane ride.

And once I land (provided we don't die in a pond or an empty lot in Merville) in summery Dgte (shortened lest you think I shall go out of my mind raving once more) I shall immediately BURN the horrendous book.

Oh, who am I kidding?

*

In an hour or so (well, dapat NOW), I'm off to the school across the street, to check, even amidst all this hullaballoo, if I am still an Atenean. Which means talking to Xander the Overlord, the registrar on the edge of mainland Arneow, the scholarship people, and Miss Abi for my bleeping NSTP snags. Keep yer fingers crossed, e'rybooty! I wanna spend my junior year in school.