Let's Meet at Panty

A million things on my mind and then I organized a meeting through MS Outlook with location: Panty.

Monica was like "AHAHAHAHAAHAHAHHA!" and I was like "WHAT??? WHAT???" and then we're both like "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Guess it's weird to discuss serious matters in a panty.

So. Since we're closing and all, the office couldn't be bothered with a conference room so we converted 3/4 of our pantry into an area for grown-up discussions, thus banning food and drinks in the now-business/nosebleed-like corner. 

It could be I'm out of sorts coz of the busyness of my professional being, or R on my lappy simply ignored my pressing press or it could be I have lesbo thoughts of panty because of the hottie. But I'm more attuned to the male hottie, so I would've typed under meeting location: boxers or briefs. If that's the case.

Building Inspector and Comb in the Cab plus Kegels

After having building/ sanitation-inspector duties for half-an-hour or so, I feel so jack-of-all-trades. I did a waitress-type stint last Saturday and since my independence day, I'm also sort of a domestic helper for myself. These are on top of the day job. But I don't want to be a building/ sanitation inspector. The risk of roach attack is too great. 

Anyhoo, in the cab on my way to the office. The driver had bangs-like mustache and glossy hair carefully parted at the side. He kept combing it very carefully with a little comb. Like every two seconds. WTF. Hahahahaha! I gave him a 5-peso tip for entertainment factor.

I love Figaro's tuna melt, thanks to Monica for the heads-up. It's so healthy and mustardeee. I could eat this for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and wouldn't feel guilty downing a million bottles of beer.

If that's the case then I wouldn't bother with her stomach suction tip to attain the nirvana of teeny waistline.

Guess I'll be sticking to Kegel exercises. Now, that's a pleasant kind of suction.

Timely or Untimely and Laundry

It's practically midnight! And I'm wandering around the apartment drinking water and peeing and listening to the neighbor warming up his ten-wheeler truck. The chickens and the dogs and the birds are greeting one another happily. Guess I have to get used to the idea that in this part of the world, 6-ish IS the time to rise and shine and that my almost 3-year old insomnia is officially over. The living room smells like detergent and fabric conditioner. Because laundry is hanging right in there. Don't even ask.

Doggone

It just occurred to me. That's prolly why I've been a dog lover since I was in diapers (although I ate my first pet... Hey! I was still in an age where my parents get to decide what to have for dinner or starve) because I'm .0001% dog. My apartment's tiles are white and it just hit me that my hair is ALWAYS all over the place.

Mega Lashes

I've always willed my eye-lashes to sprout out and multiply and I don't know why. I have this huge fixation for long lashes. I always stare at people who do, regardless of gender or the authenticity of the matter. Unfortunately, mine is short, non-voluminous and just plain sad. Or plain and sad.  I had to shrug off my dislike to lie still while somebody is fussing about something connected to my being and went to the salon to have extensions. I pulled them out a few days later. I can't cry when I'm drunk. I had to bathe delicately. I had to wash my face as if it's made of parchment.  It was really kind of a paralyzed-90-year-old way of living. No sunglasses, no eye-make up, no tossing and turning while sleeping. Unfortunately, when one is drunk, one has no control over one's sleeping movements. One day I woke up and the fakers were all topsy-turvy and not upward curvy. My eyes looked totally tousled and hairy and to think I only have half-an-eyebrow over each one.  Still, all the time I had those mega-watt peepers, I kept staring at myself. And loving what I see. Creepy. And I can't lie. I'm still completely vain about my lashes. Aside from the Maybelline Cat Eyes thingy, I'm also looking into growth serums and stick-ons. We'll see. 

The Mega Horn Effect

OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! He strides toward the men's room in a godly sort of way. He soo wanna make me do girlie stuff like bat my eyelashes, flick my hair, giggle and swoon and so on and so forth. And also jump on him, pinch his man-boobies or grab his buns. You know.

M is for... Monday! (yeah right!)

M is for monday, multi-tasking, monica and... hmmmmm...as Georgia Nicolson would say "mega-horn" and let's leave it at that. hahahhaha!

Multi-tasker at her finest. Referring to ME of course. Busily solving work-related problems while busily doing some online shoe-drooling-and-ogling with Monica. Those Jimmy F**ck-me Choos can buy me a 40-inch LCD TV. Hell, an iPhone costs far less. But maybe those shoes cost soo much because even if the stilettos are 50-feet high, one would feel that one is walking on a bunch of clouds rather than on rough asphalt? I wouldn't know, I'm just a Jimmy Choo/ Manolo Blahnik drooler.