Happy Pills

Hello word, I'm a coke float junkie.

I've been living, no, thriving on it for the past three weeks. Sans scientific findings, ice cream and coca cola are a lethal mix. I swear, those drinks are burning a hole in my stomach.

It's my latest addiction; but in truth, it really is a substitute, isn't it? It is something to fill that void I've been vaguely territorial over for the past 24 years (vague much?). The fact that I cant mention it without getting cryptic reinforces the conclusion that I really need to get hold of these illusions I've been subconsciously pining over.

Ah, whatever...

I'm convinced, it's a substitute for the happy pill. Come to think of it, it is the happy fill, isn't it? I've never been partial to chocolates, nicotine or caffiene...so this is as close I have for a quick happy fix.

Yet like all substitutes, its effect doesnt last long. You really cant fool yourself for the real thing. So here I am at it again. Like a pompous moron overdue for a quarter-life crisis, here I am again, wallowing in self-pity. Put walking contradiction up in my resume, will you? It's high school all over again! Oi!

Speaking of High School, I saw Mr. Stipes again over my valentine week. I wanted to rant over the occasion, but my inner KJ gut told me otherwise. He huddles over that internet cafe like a nut. So I opted for disclosures on mute. Needless to say, my head spun for the entire week. Think how it would feel like to be actually within a meter radius around that guy. I shudder at the thought. I'm an old hag I tell you. My stalker-self hasn't kicked in yet and I'm already in freak mode. Whatever effect he has on me, it' s been, er, fabulous. Who needs coke floats when you have death-inducing infatuations?

Hmm.. I do?

Point B to Point A

I swear, I will find time to update this blog. There's nothing like shameless self-deprecation. I highly recommend it -- very theraputic. Puts you in zen mode.

Regressing... I had a fantastic weekend: deadening the mind with Hollywood crap for movies, and snacking on delish-gossip, theories on self-loathing and boys, spinsterhood ( or single-blessedness, as a dear friend puts it) and law-skul boys for options. Frankly, I've had a full week. I might stave off weekend plans for an entire month.

Seriously.

It's weird, but I easily get put-off by too much fun. It must be innate...in the genes, or something. But I get overwhelmed by too much activity. Whatever. Must be the Golden-Girl feeling its way out of me.


Nywayz, my dear friend Gae left this thought-provoking adage to explain the greatest mysteries of the universe: why we are still single.

It's very Cofucius. Funny, but wise.

She says, the reason why no guy has ever had the guts to talk to us is because: " He (potential guy) would not only worry what he'll feed us (on a date) but also whether the food we'll be eating will match the bag, the dress and the shoes we'll be wearing."

Though I've never taken myself to dress for a date, still, it get's you wondering.... maybe I am A, never B, but never knew it? Hmm... cryptic mode again.