Apparently, my brother just got a(nother. corporate manslut.) promotion and is now on his way back stateside despite refusing to stay there for good (poor mom.) since he has, after all, a fully functioning, taking it to their graves, umpteen year old lovey dovey relationship back here in las philippine islands.

Really happy for him, but that is just the worst punchline to yesterday there can ever be. Hopefully.

I mean, Papa Jesus, can you hear me? Grampa God, do you still love me? Crying in the dark?

And footprints in the sand.

These are the Days of Our Lives. Ha!

Will now initiate self-made, hypnotherapeutic, self-esteem boosting routine and retreat to rich inner world where I am both Bold and Beautiful in spite of sudden turn of ironic events causing pressing need to grieve now way blockaded career path to tres magnifique UN slut since I have never, in my richest of nightmares, wanted to be in anything hardcore corporate aside from them corporate manslut clothes.

Wearing them, kay? Not that I'd turn down a free tour to anyone's anatomy, of course.

[edit]Second thought, I have and probably will but have always been appreciative audience. Will most likely let touch and/or grope and/or kiss but never on lips.[/edit]

[edit2]God, like a common whore?[/edit2]

I must admit though, I do see myself a top head leading advertising manslut in my most frivolous of daydreams sometimes. Mostly for the clothes.

Oh, and the legion of corporate mansluts (and/or lawyers) I've always envisioned would break my heart in a very melodramatic manner to choose from, despite rich inner plot inconsistencies. I.e, I shouldn't be a corporate manslut myself because that very fact was supposed to cause minor problems snowballing into afformentioned very melodramatic breakup. But I could work on it. V.good at improvising drama.

Out there in the real world, though, I'd probably end up married to a sweet, understanding, possibly balding, likely obese, sort of old, caucasian man. Who wears hawaiian shirts way too much. Because, my immigration and fitting dangerously close to perfectly (just a bottle of hair bleach and I'm there, telling you) to la common whore stereotype, it'd take them to start a fully functioning, taking it to our graves, umpteen year old lovey dovey relationship with me. Hopefully in the hawaiian islands. Thinking After the Sunset.

Aw poop. Lancey and I wouldn't work out after all.

[edit3]
Still thinking about the UN. Thinking, if Angelina gone done it, then so could I, right? Right. Kay. Bye.[/edit3]

Undertone: crazy OST: Aloha oi. Aloha oi. Alohaloha oi. Tag, you're it! amelieisms, damning of age, la famille