Zip me up, will ya?

I've come undone.

Love, Et Al.

It's been a weird couple of days. I have this pervasive feeling that I'm missing out on something wonderful. Something that's rightfully mine. All because I've chosen to settle.

As far back as I can remember, I've been settling when it comes to relationships. I've never really taken the time to step back and consider what I was getting myself into. So it's been one disastrous relationship after the other. I can admit that now. I was never happy with any one of them.

Anyway, I've been dreaming about Mr. Right for the last couple of weeks now. Only, I haven't got a face. Just the totality of him. But the dreams are so vivid. So... real. Like, all I have to do to turn them into reality is wake up and make the conscious effort of getting myself ready for when he decides to come into my life. Does that make sense?

I know that sounds so... passive or naive but what I am is hopeful.

Gah. I blame Edward, Josh and Richard. They will be the death of me yet.

Starvation, the diet of champions.

Frightening, innit?

I stand corrected...

Elijah isn't the only male in my life who hasn't disappointed me. There is of course, Rich. My snugglebunny.

Although there were times when he's managed to make me cry. But that's mostly because I'm such a drama queen.

Rich is my snugglebunny, my studmuffin, my toy-pusher and the ONLY male in my life who's gotten me more than one memo in this lifetime. Hehe.

Turn Up The Volume!

No really, seriously, before you click on the play button, turn up the volume because this video was taken with a very crappy camera phone so it's going to be small and it's going to require you to have bat-like hearing abilities. Heh.

Anyway, this is the love of my life. My one and only baby boy. The only male that will never, ever disappoint me.

He only just started learning this song last night and this was taken early this morning. Is he good, or what?

Death by Guitar String.

I don't think I've blogged enough about my kid, Elijah. He's 15, sweet, funny, stubborn as hell like his Mom and talented to boot. Right now, he's trying to become the next great lead guitarist. There's just one problem. And his name is Sungha Jung.

To say that Sungha Jung is a musical genius is to underplay his talent. He is just... gifted.

Don't get me wrong now, my kid can play. And he has managed to learn how to play the guitar all on his own. I am one proud momma. But Sungha Jung will have him for breakfast.

Ribbit.

Why must you immediately think that when others are critical of you and yours that they're naturally, obviously just jealous of you?

Like if I said how you're a pathetic, skanky little twit, that automatically makes me jealous of you? Uh, hello. Not everything is about jealousy, people. Christ on a crutch. Have you ever wondered that maybe, just maybe, you really ARE a pathetic, skanky little twit and I just happen to be the ONLY one who has the balls to point it out?

Or maybe I'm just a critical bitch with nothing better to do... hey, it's a free country, I can criticize anybody I want. Just so happens, I want to criticize you. You're an easy target. You make it SO easy for me to pick on you. Yes, you, I'm talking to you. The one who went snooping around my profile to get to this blog. Yes, you.

You're so predictable, it hurts.

Wait, I have to apologize to the other readers of this blog. I know it's become such a drag to read my posts lately but well... my blog. Easy enough to click out of it, right? But, after this post, I promise... I'll be less bitchy and more.... uhm... perky. Depends.

Ok, back to why I'm writing this post. It's just laughable how you think you KNOW everything there is to know about the guy you're all fighting over. Consider the source of your information. You get the stories from him, right? Has he not proven, time and again that he can lie his way out of anything? And yet, you believe him. No wonder you're such a pathetic mess.

Let me spell it out for you... he doesn't love you, he never did, he never will. He just does NOT know the concept of love. Just accept the fact that he's sweet when he wants something and an asshole when he's getting that something from someone else. You're not the problem, he is. Wake up!

You know why it's SO easy to hack you to pieces? It's because you're already IN pieces. He's done most of the work for me. I'm just adding a bit of spice to the whole thing. (By the way, lemme know if you can't understand some of this because, hey, we both know your grammar is just... ugh. I'll gladly post a tagalog version.)

And also, that twat you're calling "ate" who claims to be his "buddy" also slept with him. How's that for a friend? You haven't read the messages on his phone, have you? Too bad hun. I have. I was there when she WOULD NOT stop calling him at 2 freaking a.m.! I was there when he had to tell her to stop texting because he was with me. Seriously.

You're only 18 and you're already willing to give up what future you have just to hold on to him? Really? And you're calling ME the loser? (By the way, that other friend you have who has absolutely NOTHING to do with all the crap that's been going on, tell her that loser is spelled with one O. And that the next time she pokes her flat little nose into my business, I'm going to show her just how butt ugly she really is.)

Here's a piece of advice. Unwanted, sure but suck it up, this is MY blog. Move on darling. Move on. Build a bridge and get over it already. He's never going to change and I seriously think you've got a lot more to offer the world that just being his doormat.

And let's get this out of the way, shall we? I do NOT want to be your friend. I do NOT want to make peace with you and I will never be jealous of you. Not in this lifetime. Yes, I'm older than you. Yes, you're younger. That's about it. If you think you're prettier, that's your opinion. If you think you're smarter... think again.

I reserve the right to keep hammering at you until you can't take it or until you wise up and get the hell out of that pseudo-relationship you have and take better control of your life. Whichever comes first.

Oh and hey "buddy", what's with you and the word pretty? Just curious. I don't really need an answer. I mean, there are other quotes out there that you can use that does not have the word pretty in it. Just saying...

And cut. Ribbit.

The guy in 2B, he knows!

Dane Cook seriously makes me pee in my pants. A lot of people don't find him particularly funny but pffft. I'm a huge fan. So huge that if Dane ever came over to perform here, I'd sell BOTH my kidneys and one aunt just to buy tickets.

So funny. Tummy hurts.

Rapist Baseball Cards. Hilarious.

Cheerios.

Huh.... I am so predictable.

Granola.

Cass posted this a couple of days ago and I fell in love with it. If only I could have this tattooed on me somehow. Snork.

Secret blogs aren't meant for public viewing, hence the secrecy. So it's a lot disconcerting when someone from the past finds it, reads it and then comments on it on your other blog. Bollocks to that.

In other news, it looks like I'm in for a big change. Crossing my fingers and rubbing every rabbit's foot within reach. I can't wait.

Squishing and loving my orange macho ninja to death is about the only major happy thing that's been keeping me sane these past few days. I've yet to name them. They're getting antsy in their pantsy and I was told, in no uncertain terms that if I don't come up with a name for each of them soon, they're going to stage a ninja rally, the likes of which will hound me in my sleep.

I've been so busy lately, maybe tomorrow I'll rearrange my room and organize my books... to relax. Heh. I'm weird, I know.

It's All About The Moustache

I finally got my Macho Micro Ninjas and I love them. I love them deliriously. I love them more than I've loved all my ex-boyfriends combined.

After all the waiting and the extreme difficulty that I had to go through to get them from the post office, I can absolutely say that they are worth it.

First off, I had to pay the requisite 10% tax on top of the postal handling fee....

Wait, wait. I have to start at the beginning... Usually, anything sent to me from overseas, I pick up from the local post office, that's roughly 30 minutes away from where I live. Convenient, right? Yeah, I thought so too. So, okay, anyway... this time I had to go to the Domestic Postal Office where the Customs Office is. And they're FREAKING two hours away! Grrr.

I got there, tired and disheveled and sweaty. I walked about a block from the entrance to the Customs Office then I had to wait in line for roughly 30 minutes to get my crap sorted out. After that, I paid the postal handling fee then was told to sit down and wait to be called.

After another half hour, I heard my name called. They opened the package there and determined the 10% tax. Then much to my dismay, I had to wait another 30 minutes or so for them to check out my toys. I was near tears by the time I got the ninjas.

But... they are worth it. Very much so. I got three black ones and one orange one. I sound so 2nd grade. Hehe.

Rich, my studmuffin and toy daddy... I love you. I really do. You just made me the happiest woman-girl alive.

Guess what...

I'm in love.

With you.

A Cacophony of Crap.

Choose a song, pick a part of the song then use that as your shoutout... or scour the net for the most apropos quote you can find and THEN instead of mangling it by trying to put your own spin to it, translate it into Tagalog.

Brava!!

Ok. Got that out of my system.

Work is kicking my butt. I'm kicking back though. Kicking right back.

Oooh, and one more thing... you might want to check where your guy is and who he's with before you tell the whole freakin world that you're his one and only. Really. Shove a GPS dot up his ass so you'll know where he is before you go run your mouth. Pathetic.