purple nightshirt, hair down

a better title for this would also be: another unsuccesful attempt at love.

baguio city, hypothermia and cupid greeted me with a huge bukol [bump] on my forehead. listen: if there is a speck of dust i could stumble on and a bus window to bang my head on while the bus warbles up the mountain, i will find it. i hadn’t realized i had it until i marched to the bathroom to wash my face. if i were a cancer phobic the moment i felt that huge lump on my head, i probably would’ve fainted on the spot. for the record, it disappeared a few hours later, and i am pretty much back to normal. ask my raging hormones.

ahh yes, my raging hormones. what in the world would i do without them? they are always there to feed me cute guys [airheads, actually] when i am so goddamn bored and/or when i find out that my last hormonal crush thinks that i was the airhead. and to think he has the maturity of a two-year-old! a friend told me once that my raging hormones will stop if i get around to finding The One and i intend to do that.

my ideal “The one” is dense . so if you want to stop listening to me whine about lester and previous “The Ones”, give me a call and tell me you have a crush on me. i’ll take it from there.

there, i said it. i have it bad for lester. really bad. so bad that awhile ago, i actually shrieked when my sister showed me an old picture she took of him. well, what can i do? he’s got this killer smile [but he has weird teeth, though] and what stupid girl won’t scream if he reserved one of those for you? i was so damn confident i would have him. i talked to him. he talked back to me. he joked with me. he smiled at me. etcetera, etcetera. i now hate him for doing so, for keeping my hopes up.

i went into cardiac arrest when he said that apple was his best friend. the very same apple who still likes sailormoon, hello kitty and akazukin chacha. the only fourteen-year old on the planet who doesn’t care for clothes and whether or not she has a cell phone! and he dropped the bombshell on me when i found out that he was courting karlene, the sister of our dance choreographer, selene.

“airhead!” i wailed to my sister when i sank into my bed the night before she and her parents were due to arrive from manila to baguio friday evening. “i swear, that lester has zero taste.”

“yes he has! karlene’s pretty, and sings well, too.” [karlene's a scholar for voice in the philippine high school for the arts, the high school i plan to attend next year.]

“lunkhead. i meant he had zero taste because he wasn’t courting me.”

for the record, she never did arrive, it was lester’s turn to be depressed and i’ve given up on him. guys, i’ll be waiting for your calls.

aside from that, hell week, as i had dubbed it, choir summer camp [at the Teacher's Camp, if you want to know] was a lot of fun. during the day i got screamed at by the conductress and during the evening i fed the surots [bedbugs] and mosquitos and did similar noble things like that. one more day in there and i would start feeding the worms. the bathroom was horrible–from their facades you could tell they harbored vast populations of roaches and spiders but nevertheless, i survived. it was all worth it because we had been rescued by the ‘rents one day early and spent the extra time giving away dad’s money to whoever owns the department stores in baguio. not only that, but i also got to shower in a sanitized, roach-free bathroom at the country club where i stayed for 2 more days with my whole family. the universe looks after its weirdos.