Yeah, You and Your Elevator Shiznit.

For the past few days never-as in never-in my history of self-induced sleep deprivation drama have I felt so drained.

Will all these pay off? I am just so hoping.

If it doesn't, then it really isn't meant to be.

Last Saturday I had to drag my mother and Gabbi all the way to Roxas Boulevard to pimp myself. Not that I wanted it, I just needed to. Lait festival, as I may call it.There was a skinny Boss Ira wannabe (I soo love Boss Ira), Imelda Marcos wannabe, and the just-so-not-so-overweight wannabes. That, for you, is what you call excess baggage. HAHA.

Tidbits from last week:

• Elevator-shoe man.

You're so vain. Mind you, I'm taller than you. And you're not popular. Who says you are when I myself don't even know you exist. Major eew. Get a grip. I think you like me. After all, I wasn't asking for a cocky show.

• I love you coffee machine.


The savior of all saviors. If you don't want the peseta-worth coffee, settle for the luxurious vendo coffee. And when I say luxurious, that's settling for the costliest in the bunch. Vendo macchiato. True love.♥

• And all of a sudden I soo hate those shoes.


What's the big idea with the online selling and those hidden shiznit drama-mahs? There's this person who just can't get enough of the bullying and *kpoof* immediately jacked up the price for a pair of ballet flats. Psycho.

• So you think you got yourself a girly-girl? Think again.


And a wimp, for that matter. Excuse me sir, that doesn't end the story. You think i'd end this without even putting up a fight? No sir, no indeed. Nothing is worth fighting for if you know it's reparable, you know how, what and when to compromise, it makes you happy.

I can't believe I'm doing this again. And what a he-wimp you are.

• Revenge: sweet. Unknowing victim: sweeter.

*evil laugh*  'nuf said. :))