Wild at heart

I just have to write about it. Changes do happen overnight; the nerfy loser gets to go on 29 dates in one night. So what, the hunky jock next door had 25 dates in his 22 years? Now he can kiss my skinny ass he's been wanting to kiss for so many years now but can't for fear I might think he's gay. He undoubtedly is, by the way.

I must thank Milan of No Bounds Events, an event-organizing and marketing demigod and a good friend, for the makeover. For so long I thought me going on a date would be a live, personal Hurricane Katrina, but peer pressure certainly have its pros. Friends know I have a different taste when it comes to people I hang out with - much more on my imaginary dates, and that was all that got me going on that speed dating thing.

I still can't stop laughing at the memory of it. The girls were generally nice, save for some really boring ones, but the really good ones more than make up for it. More than the actual prospect of landing a date, finding ways to entertain myself amidst all the forced interaction and fighting redundancy were the main challenges for me.

I should go out more. They say life is good. Now I think I should get one.
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Can't wait to watch the Blake's and Jordin's final performances tonight. Hope Blake wins tomorrow!
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I still don't have my normal voice back. It's still hoarse and husky. While three girls on the speed dating game thought it was sexy, I am unfortunately not a masochist so I'd rather not have sexy voice than bear this really irritating pain in my throat whenever I speak. They shouldn't worry: there are other parts of me that are sexy (written in a split second surge of macho virility). I think I'm nagbibinata (still am at 22), Ate Mae thinks I need antibiotics. Based on the preceding line, I think I'm just experinecing extended puberty, or I need a straight jacket.