my brother, after going through the songs in my ipod a couple of years back, proclaimed that i have the weirdest playlist.

i agree.

but i must say that the good thing with the weird playlist is that i almost always have the perfect song for whatever mood i am in.

recently, i've been listening a lot to lifehouse's "sick cycle carousel".

what can i say? it's perfect for now.

hopefully though i'll be able to get off the "carousel" soon. it's getting to be a wee bit too distracting.

the ex files

in a perfect universe, your ex would turn butt ugly the day you break up. his forehead will start to increase in square inches and his hair will begin to fall. he will develop adult acne AND bacne, thereby preventing him from ever going to, say, boracay, with his future who-ever. his english will begin to deteriorate, giving him a p-f problem and virtually unable to conduct a proper conversation without mixing his metaphors, using dangling modifiers, and with the correct subject-verb agreement.

and, in a perfect universe, you will never have to see your ex while your hair's unwashed, while wearing fugly glasses and a ratty graying college shirt which used to be white, at 8 in the morning.

clearly, you knoww where this rant is coming from.

because this morning, after i got home from my saturday morning ritual,* as i was about to enter our little enclave in bf, who else wwould be exiting but the pilot.

dear, sweet, gorgeous as hell pilot.

forget the fact that there are rumors swirling about him and the fact that i know in my mind and heart that i don't want him anymore. the pilot, behind the wheel, with a gorgeous smile and a little wave for me as we passed one another was enough to give me a minute coronary.

*sigh*

and, so, as i said, in a perfect universe, he'd be the one looking horrible and i'd be the one oozing with gorgeousness and sex appeal.

and, if god would be so kind, probably while wearing the gorgeous red christian louboutin shoes that greta was wearing over at the buzz last sunday.

*three weeks ago, i began a saturday morning ritual which consists of me going to the 6:45 am mass, having breakfast at jollibee while reading the paper from cover to cover, and taking spike to either the gasoline station for gas or to be washed.

my staple valentine

clearly, it was stupid of me to have worried not having a date this coming weekend. because whether or not we're dating (what seemed like ten million years ago) or just really good friends (which is what we have been since we've met and what we'll be now until forever), he'd somehow reserve valentine's day (or at least the saturday after)for me.

so, when i was in a bunch last saturday night, remembering how last year i actually went out on a non-date on valentine's day with the huge crush and feeling horrible knowing that huge crush is now ex-huge crush and that he has a girlfriend and that he will be going out with her and actually call it a date, my staple valentine sent me an SMS asking me if i were free on friday.

not till ten, i replied.

late dinner, he asked.

really late dinner, i texted back.

okay, he said.

so there.

i may be date-less, boyfriend-less, and prospect-less. but i've got my staple valentine, and in this world where a guy's attention span rivals that of a three year old, i'm pretty okay with him.

after all, we're not just celebrating valentine's, we're celebrating his birthday too.

happy birthday, my dear martian.

saturday, last week, my brother texted me saying that he'll be moving out of our home and transferring to the other house which we used to rent out but has remained vacant for more than a year now. at first, i was pissed as hell, to put it mildly. him moving out means me having to shell out twice as much as i am shelling out now to maintain the house.

but then after the initial burst of anger died down, i realized that it shouldn't be so bad. him moving out of the house translates to ME FINALLY HAVING A HOUSE I CAN CALL MY OWN.

okay, i know i shouldn't be getting ahead of myself here. after all, it's still going to be my parents' house and it still roughly means there'll be a hundred and one knick knacks i can't really dispose of (think betis-type couch i can't even sit on cause it's meant to be furniture on display or something like that). and, it also means that i'll have to maintain a three-bedroom house plus maid's room, plus living and dining rooms plus kitchen, plus garden, plus two-car garage without a maid. there is the possibility too that my brother would leave three-quarters of his junk at home while he lives in his "minimalist" house. bummer.

my aunt, god bless her, told me to insist nicely, but firmly, before anything else that MY BROTHER TAKES ALL OF HIS JUNK TO HIS NEW HOME. after all, if he's moving out, he should move EVERYTHING HE OWNS OUT WITH HIM. second, i should treat the brother-empty house as my home. my parents aren't around ... so, for all intents and purposes (and ma and pa, would you be kind enough to consider this as an advance on my legitime?) the house will be MY HOME. mine. mine. mine.

mine. i like, no, scratch that, i LOVE the sound of that.

earlier, i was at trinoma and i was actually looking at curtains, throw pillows, and new beddings. and yesterday, i trekked over to uratex to get myself a new mattress (well, i've been planning on that for the longest time, but still). what can i say? i am TERRIBLY excited and can't way to channel my inner rachel ashwell (of shabby chic fame).

my brother's targetting to move out by mid-feb (uhm, bro, that's next week already!), or end of feb at the latest. me - i can't wait.